


True Compatibility

by SylviaW1991



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Vampire, I'm sorry I'm bad at tags, M/M, Romance and Fluff, and biting, bad mystery, but the mystery doesn't really matter, it's all about the romance, vampire twins, yup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7300999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper Pines and his twin have been vampires for 110 years, ever since a mysterious rogue illegally turned them amidst the chaos of an earthquake, and finally have their footing within the human world. They're both successful in their current fields, comfortable in the city they've settled in, and have at least fifteen years before anyone really notices that the two twenty-five year olds haven't aged a day.</p><p>But when a bite to eat turns out to be something much, much more, Dipper finds himself knocked right off balance again. Wirt's really, seriously cute and his brother's cool and did he mention that the guy was cute? Toss in a murderous rogue vampire terrorizing the humans in their city and he has his hands full between trying to keep Wirt safe and keeping his vampiric identity a secret. One of those balls is bound to get bobbled, right? Dipper certainly hopes not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By human standards they should've been long dead. By their own kind’s, they were practically children. It didn’t help that they'd been turned as such, twelve year old former humans turned by a rogue and thankfully sent to very, very distant relatives to learn how to deal with and control their newfound abilities.

And their newfound hunger.

He landed with a tactical roll, huffing when she landed beside him as gracefully as can be. “Seriously?”

“What? I have a grappling hook. You’re the one who decided to just jump to the next roof like a crazy action hero.”

“Okay, no, a grappling hook is definitely more crazy action hero. What I did is normal.”

“Yeah, well, mine was quieter. It's after midnight, Dipdop. You were the one who said light steps, blahblahblah.”

She pushed the bill of his baseball cap down, the old thing patched and frayed at the edges. It was a quarter of a century old, given to him by the caretaker they affectionately called Grunkle Stan when they'd left the small town in Oregon to see how the world had evolved beyond pop culture. They'd seen quite a bit in their years, picking and choosing what parts of that culture they'd wanted to adopt.

“I also said, ‘Hey, Mabel, don't forget to stop at the bank. We're running low,’” he pointed out. “That worked out well.”

“Yeah, but now we get to hunt! Besides, running low is totally different from out. And we were out.”

He hummed, strolling across the roof of the apartment building to peer over the edge and into the alley below. “Keep it up and we're going into the country to hunt cows.”

“That's super gross, and you know it.” She joined him at the edge, hair the same chestnut as his rolling down her back in thick curls. “Besides, you've skipped meals for three days, you dork. You wouldn’t make it to a cowfield.”

That was true enough, his stomach cramping with need, but she didn't need to know that.

“You’re projecting,” she sing-songed.

“Stay out of my head.”

“Projecting!”

“Shut up.”

She sidled closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Projecting.”

“Seriously, shh.” He crouched, gaze scanning the narrow alley. His night vision was sharp, far better than it ever was during the day, and zeroed in on the source of the rabbit-like heartbeat just turning into the space. Brown hair was short and straight, standing up at odd angles by the spring breeze or his own fidgety fingers. His sweater was dark, possibly burgundy, with an argyle pattern stitched neatly about a narrow waist. Dipper watched long legs start down, then hesitate and backtrack, before the man puffed his cheeks out and soldier forward. All while his heart raced in a panic. Good instincts, bad judgement.

“Cute face.”

“Shut up.”

“Get some food and you can stop projecting.”

He rolled his eyes and soundlessly disappeared over the edge. He latched onto the side of the fire escape, the rattling soft enough to not quite reach the human’s ears. Keeping as light and limber as he'd been trained and as his turned form allowed, he ended up behind the quick young man.

“Hi.”

He whirled, gripping his satchel tightly, and lifting it as it was a shield. “H-hi. I'm- Just. I'm walking. Home. Here. No valuables or anything. I'm fine. Yeah. Yes. Just- oh, look. I must’ve made a wrong turn. Whoops. I'll just- um. You’re staring- I think you’re staring at me. Stop staring at me. Please. Yeah. Yes. It's late. You shouldn't stare at- at people when it's late. Or ever. Ever. Don't stare at people. It's- it's rude.”

Dipper was actually staring at him, searching his nervous gaze and trying to grab hold of his mind to settle him, but couldn't manage it. His twin landed next to him, and the man squeaked. His panicked retreat stopped, though, eyes glazing when his gaze met Mabel’s.

“What are you doing?” she wondered. “You don’t normally play around.”

“I wasn’t playing,” he muttered, hands sinking into his pockets. “You can control him?”

“You can't?”

He frowned. “Not... I don’t think so? I couldn't grab him.”

“Well, he's a little hard to hold, but he's got a stubborn mind. That doesn't normally stop you.”

“I know, but-”

“It's probably because you’re hungry.” She waved a hand. “Just eat so we can go. I'm hungry too, and he won't feed us both safely. You can smell his circulation. It's awful.”

“Yeah.” He'd probably need to be helped home, neither twin the type to leave a meal vulnerable. Still not completely comfortable with his inability to latch onto his mind, Dipper stepped forward with a quiet sigh. “Make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

“Hey, now, who’s the older one here?”

“We're the same-” He huffed. “Nevermind. I'm just- nevermind.” Dipper lifted his hands to his forearms-

“His name’s Wirt.”

“Oh my god. Don't tell me when I'm about to eat.”

When she only giggled, he rolled his eyes and let his canines elongate to reveal sharpened fangs. They punctured the skin of the human’s - Wirt’s - neck easily, blood draining into his fangs and scent filling his nose. Definitely had bad circulation, and was a touch malnourished. If he could search his mind, he'd try and find out why and fix it. A favor for a favor, but helping him get home would have to do.

When he'd had enough that his hunger had ebbed and Wirt would still be able to walk on his own, Dipper stepped back and quickly licked his fangs to rid them of any extra blood dripping from them. They were quickly withdrawn to avoid teasing comments on the mild speech impediment they caused.

“Remember when this was the only way to get blood?”

He sighed, hands dipping into his pockets. “Yeah. Definitely warmer than bags, but this guy's gonna need some sleep.”

“Yep! He doesn’t live far from here.”

“Okay. I'll get him there. You need to eat.”

“I know. I'm famished.” Mabel caught Wirt’s eye again, slipping into his mind to let him go. When his eyes closed and knees buckled, Dipper was quick to grab him and send a glare her way.

She shrugged. “What?”

“Seriously? You knocked him out?”

“Pssh. Barely. He hasn't been sleeping or eating right. Finding him passed out in an alley makes total sense.”

“He's loaded with enough caffeine that I'll be awake for three days,” Dipper pointed out, glare unimpeded.

“Total sense!” Mabel insisted and waved when Wirt began to stir, vanishing by the time his eyes blinked open.

He jerked in Dipper’s grip, nearly stumbling over his own feet, but he held fast. “Hey! Hey, hey, hey. Don't- calm down, dude.”

“Dude?”

Oh. Right. That was on the antiquated side. Sort of. It wasn’t a current colloquialism for the area at least. “California,” he blurted, thinking fast. “I'm from California.” It wasn't entirely a lie. His human life had been spent in post-Civil War and Gold Rush California, his last clear memory the terror of an earthquake and a supposedly friendly man reaching to pull him and his sister free from rubble. Instead, he'd left them very dead.

Dipper shook his head, shaking away the memories to focus on the man weaving against him in a clear inability to decide whether to step away or stay in place. “Anyway, yeah, hi. Are you okay? I was about to call a cab or an ambulance and bundle you in before you woke up.”

“What? I-” Wirt lifted a hand to his head. “What happened?”

“Well, you don’t seem drunk, so I have no idea.” Dipper offered a smile, charmed when a flush stole across his face. “I was heading home, and saw you kind of just fall over? Low blood sugar, or...?”

“No, I'm- I'm not diabetic. I just- I don’t know. I'm- I was at a friend's house because she made me take a break from studying- I- I mean, she didn't _make_ me. I'm not six. I just- Anyway, I'm just...”

“Exhausted.”

Wirt sighed. “I drank a lot of tea?”

Dipper laughed, as charmed by the awkwardness as he was the blush. It wasn’t often that he came into such contact with a food source, rarer still that he found the source cute. “I'm sorry, but it's pretty obviously worn off. Come on, man. I'm not about to let you pass out, so let's get you home.”

“No, that's-” Wirt took a wobbling step away, but quite literally swooned back into Dipper. “Oh. Um. I- I guess I'm more tired than I thought.”

“Explains the creepy detour into alley town. Shortcut?”

“During the day, anyway.”

“Alright, come on. I've got you if anything big and bad comes out to bite you.” Himself not included, as Dipper didn’t consider himself to be big nor bad. Even the human was a head taller than he was. And to think a hundred years before, he'd been considered to be tall.

“Well, I- You- It's not necessary. You don't have to- I didn't drop anything, did I?”

“Not unless you have something more than that satchel.” Dipper shrugged, pulling Wirt’s arm across his shoulders since he didn't seem inclined to do so by himself. “I didn't see anything, though. So I think you’re good.”

“Okay. Um. I, um, thanks. Thank you. It's- It's not far. I'm just, um... dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, you're human.” For many of his kind, the words were synonymous, but Dipper - not to mention his twin - tended to view them in a stronger light. It wasn’t as though vampires were impervious to mistakes, no matter what the Council perpetuated. “Besides, it's not like taking you home is a problem.” He'd gotten enough to sustain him until their order arrived the next day and didn't doubt his twin’s competence in feeding herself. As wild as she was, food wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Wirt had been safe because the strongest thing in his scent had been earl gray.

Though now that he'd gotten a taste of his blood and even more intimately acquainted with his scent, he could taste embarrassment and hints of basic attraction with every inhale. Dipper tried not to be too amused or pleased with himself, but he'd been admiring that cute face since he'd first turned into the alley.

Wirt cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, um... mm-hm. I still appreciate it. I mean, my- my little brother would probably panic if I didn't show up by morning. I- He has a babysitter, but- not that he'd like her being called a babysitter, but Mrs. Daniels was my babysitter when I was little. Not that- not that you care or asked for this information. Sorry. I'll just... be quiet, yeah.”

“No, it's fine. I don’t mind listening if you want to talk. Your parents aren't home?”

“No, I... They're gone, y’know, so... yeah.”

Dipper glanced at him, taking in the wafts of grief. They were muted, but the sorrow still hung there. “How long?”

“Seven- seven years. It was, um- I was just starting college? And, uh, they were heading home from- from visiting me. They brought Greg - That's- Greg’s my brother. He was almost nine, and he missed me. So- so they brought him to stay with me for the weekend, and on their way home... It was raining and... and someone wasn’t paying attention, you know? Going too fast. Whatever.”

Dipper caught his eye, annoyance seeping in when he found himself still unable to reach into his mind and soothe the grief he felt. What was so special about him that he couldn’t touch Wirt’s mind? He'd never run into that with a human.

“What? You're- you’re staring at me. I- That's, um...”

“Rude?” Dipper murmured, lips quirking when Wirt’s pressed together.

“Mm-mm-mm.”

“I'm sorry. For staring and for your parents. My sister and I lost ours when we were twelve, so I empathize. Did you take your brother in?”

“Yeah, I- Of course. I- You were both twelve?”

“We're twins.”

“Oh! I- That's different. Not bad different, just- I- You’re smiling at me.”

Dipper laughed, bumping their hips together companionably. “You’re easy to smile at.”

Wirt blinked wide eyes at him. “Um. So, um, your parents?” he squeaked. “How'd you-? I'm sorry. That's really...”

“I think you’re aiming for rude again.” Dipper grinned at his weak nod. “It's fine, consider us even. But to keep the fairness going, it was an earthquake. They were upstairs, and we were playing checkers on the front porch. The house wasn’t, um, the most stable.”

“That's... wow. I'm- I'm sorry. That sounds terrifying.”

Dipper shrugged, having a solid century between the loss and present day. “It's alright. She and I muddled through thanks to our two great-uncles. Which way?”

“Oh. Um.” Wirt gestured to the right, fingers tightening on the strap of his satchel. “We- we live right down there. It's just- just a small apartment. At least until the semester ends.”

“Are you still in college?”

“Yeah. I had to, um...” He cleared his throat. “I had to get a job and all and, um, yeah.”

“So it's just the two of you?”

“Yeah. It's- It's me and Greg. Heh.” Wirt swallowed, dropping his gaze when Dipper sought his again. “It's not that bad. He's a handful, but he just turned fifteen in February. I wasn't exactly easy to handle when I was fifteen.”

Dipper bit his lip, but wasn't able to resist asking, “Are you easy to handle now?”

“Oh my gosh,” he breathed, stringing them together into one panicked blurt. “I-I-”

“I'm sorry. Seriously. I'm-” Dipper laughed, giving him a squeeze. “I am sorry. I'm just teasing, and I just- We'll blame my crazy sister and her bad influence.”

“No, that's, um...” Wirt looked over at him, letting his gaze linger on Dipper’s. “I was just... surprised.”

And shyly interested. Dipper bit his lip again, surprised by the desire to bite Wirt’s instead. It had been a very long time since he'd tried to be with anyone, hiding in the shadows present enough in his daily life without adding a cultural aversion of homosexuality to the mix. But it was more acceptable now than it ever had been, and it had never been a taboo within vampiric culture. Dating a human, though, was sighed over, especially one already bitten.

But as long as he kept the biting part a secret, what was the harm?

He stopped when Wirt did, the human retrieving his keys from his pocket. “I, um, we're on the first floor. So I think I'm good from here. Um... Thank you for, um... oh my gosh, I can't believe I passed out in an alley.”

There was a brief flicker of guilt for the lie, but Dipper smothered it. He'd needed to eat, and the man who was working through college to raise his brother after tragedy had been the first clean person they'd seen that night. “Pay me back by getting some sleep. And stay out of alleys after dark. Shortcuts or not, okay? Worse things than me might find you next time.”

Cheeks burning, Wirt eased away from him but didn't turn towards the door just yet. “I'll-Yeah, I'll remember that. I'm not usually out this late. I just- Finals are around the corner, and Sara - my friend? Um. She knows I've been stressed and wanted me to take a break, and I never know how they all manage to keep me out later than planned, but... Yeah. I'm sorry, yeah. I'll just... stay out of alleys. Right.”

Dipper laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You could also maybe tell me your name.”

“Oh! Um. Yeah, yes. It's- Right. Wirt.”

If he hadn’t already known it, he might’ve mistaken it as part of his stuttering. “Hi, Wirt.” He captured his hand, lifting it to press a kiss to the back. “I'm Dipper.” Wirt’s eyes rounded, lips parting on a soft sound that had Dipper's curving. Maybe he didn't need to control his mind the usual way. “Go inside now.”

“Mmhm.”

Dipper waited for him to unlock the door, stabbing at the lock twice before realizing he was using the wrong key entirely. Dipper wisely swallowed the chuckle. “Get some sleep.”

“Mmhm.”

“I'll see you around, Wirt.”

“Mmhm.” The door closed behind him, Wirt glancing back with the tiniest of waves before disappearing down the brightly lit hall.

Dipper turned to go, almost immediately tripping over a lifted section of sidewalk. A familiar laugh behind him had him flushing. “Mabel!”

“Smooth, bro-bro. So smooth.”

“Shut up, oh my god.” When she only continued to snicker, he sighed. “Did you eat?”

“Yep! Found someone leaving home for a late night snack, so I took one and convinced him to go back inside and save his money.”

“How nice of you,” was his dry opinion.

“I'm super nice.” She stuck her tongue out at him before linking their arms. “Let's go home. Some of us have work to do.”

“Some of us are responsible and finished early,” he teased, laughing when she jabbed him in the ribs.

\----

“Wirt! I can't find my backpack! It was eaten alive by werewolves, and now I'll never be able to go to school!” A teenager slumped against the doorjamb of their shared bathroom, a hand dramatically lifting to a brow shades lighter than Wirt's olive-toned skin. His hair was more akin to a golden brown than Wirt's oak, his face and body both round contrasts to Wirt's sharp angles. The only thing they shared was honey brown eyes, and even then it was only the color.

Wirt spit toothpaste into the sink. They'd been differences he'd hated when he'd been nine, his mom and new step-dad bringing home the new addition. For six years, he'd thought of Greg as the replacement child until an accident at fifteen had brought them face to face with their own mortality and he'd realized that the boy had done him no harm, meant him no harm, and loved him without condition. His step-father, too, had been given more leniency and patience. Wirt had been trying, really, and that weekend - that last, awful weekend - he'd finally very carefully called the man dad.

So did he have regrets? God, yes. Three decent years couldn’t outweigh four awful ones, and he knew his mom had fared little better with him blaming her. But he'd been trying hard to let those regrets go for Greg’s sake. If he could raise Greg the right way, the way they would have, it might almost be enough to make up for who he'd been.

“Did you look in the living room on the armchair you always leave your stuff on?”

One eye peeked between his fingers, lips pursing. “Not quite.”

“Go check. Werewolves don't eat backpacks.” Wirt paused before putting the toothbrush back in his mouth. “Unless you left food in there.”

Greg giggled, straightening. “I would never do such a thing, brother o’ mine. You must be thinking of my evil twin.”

Wirt rolled his eyes. “Go get your bag, and don’t forget your homework. I'm not leaving work to bring it to you again.”

“Okay, okay. Hey, speaking of work-”

“Grrg!” he groaned, toothbrush doing its job.

“Okay,” he sighed, drawing out the a as he swung around the corner and disappeared down the short hall.

Wirt shook his head, though his mind lingered on the word twin and shifted straight to the mysterious man he'd met the night before. He really shouldn't even be thinking about the guy. Dipper, Wirt remembered, staring at his hand in the mirror. Oh, boy. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed his hand, definitely couldn’t remember the last time he'd wanted someone to.

Not that he'd necessarily wanted Dipper to. It was just a nice thought, the romance of it having color seep into his cheeks even the next morning. The sweetness of the gesture after helping him home after he'd very, very unromantically passed out in an alley.

“Ugh,” he mumbled, rinsing his toothbrush to put away. “What kind of guy just passes out in an alley?” That wasn’t being safe for Greg. What if someone not as nice as Dipper had come along to find him toppled over and sleeping? He needed to take better care of himself, maybe avoid that strict diet of tea and whatever dinner was fast and easily made for Greg. Real meals, real sleep. Really nice dreams about men in flannel shirts and faded jeans, lovely, soft-looking curls peeking out from beneath a worn baseball cap.

“And there I go again. Ugh. What is wrong with me?”

“Do you want the short list or the really, _really_ short list?”

Wirt jolted, hitting himself with the brush he was pulling from the shelf. “Greg!”

His brother cackled, backpack slung over his shoulders and shoes on. “Sorry, Sir Talks-to-himself-a-lot. I just couldn't help but overhear you talking to yourself a lot.”

Wirt gave him a bland look before picking up the fallen brush. “That’s not really-”

“Whoa, vampire bite!”

“What?”

Greg pointed at him, eyes wide. “Are you a vampire now? Oh, wait, you can see your reflection. Oh! I'll go get some garlic! Do we have garlic?”

“Greg, I'm not a vampire. Don't be ridiculous.” Wirt leaned towards the mirror, tilting his head to better expose the two little circles on his neck. They did look a bit like what he supposed a vampire bite would look like, but that was impossible. There was a very big difference between humoring his little brother’s fascination with the paranormal and actually believing in it.

Besides, he didn’t feel like a vampire. “They're just bug bites,” he decided.

“I'm still gonna get garlic.”

“No, Greg. I'm not a vampire.”

When Wirt tugged his collar up to hide the marks, Greg sighed heavily. “Okay, okay. But you know it's almost a quarter after, right?”

“A quarter-” Wirt gasped, foregoing the hairbrush to scramble for his satchel and his own shoes. “We're going to be late! Why didn't you come get me?”

“I did, and you were talking to yourself. I didn't want to be rude and interrupt.”

Wirt looked up to find his brother just barely covering his grin. He huffed. “If we're late, I'm blaming you.”

“Well, _I_ won't be late. My stop’s first. Unless-”

“Not with just a permit. You know the rules.”

“Shucks.” He snapped his fingers and Wirt sighed before disappearing into the kitchen to get his lunch for the day and, oddly, discovered his keys in the fridge. Why were they-? Nevermind. He had other things to stress over.

He grabbed two shoes from their cluttered shoe rack by the door, not even noticing that the oxfords were two different shades of brown. “Come on, Greg, let's go!” he called into the apartment.

“I'm behind you.”

Wirt turned, his brother absolutely leaned against the wall of the hallway. “Oh. Um. Well, we still need to go. Did you feed the cat?”

“Yup. Tuna’s pleasantly plump and purr-fectly pleased.”

The bad pun surprised a laugh out of him even as he tugged his brother down the hall and out the door. “No cat puns. It's too early for cat puns.”

“Wirt!” Greg gasped. “How could you paw-sibly say that?”

“No. No, no, no. Car. Get in the car.”

“Are you gonna make the engine purr?”

The ten year old hatchback was more likely to belch, but Wirt just pushed his brother into the passenger side and walked around to the driver's. “You’re a brat.”

“I'm the cat's pajamas.”

“Greg!”

Somehow, he didn’t kill his brother before kicking him out in front of his school. “Remember, I have a meeting with a professor at four, so I won't be able to come get you. Just-”

“Take the bus and text you when I get home. I know, Worry Wirt.”

“Well, I'm just making sure. I don’t want you to get scared or think I'm working late when-”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of work! Have you heard anything about Alex Hirsch’s new book yet?”

“Greg, you know his work is only handled by certain staff members. I don’t have the seniority-”

“No, but you have knowing Beatrice... icity. It's basically the same thing.”

Wirt sighed, trying not to feel guilty over something he had no control over. “I'll ask her when I get in, okay?”

“Okay, thanks, Wirt, love you, bye!”

“Oh. Um. You- you, too. Bye, Greg! Have a-” The door closed, Greg looking startled for a moment and about to reopen it to let Wirt finish, but the older sibling just waved him away. “Have a good day,” he murmured to his retreating back, and returned to stop-and-go morning traffic for his commute.

Alone, he turned the radio a few clicks higher and tapped the wheel to the beat at every light he had to wait at. What kind of music did Dipper listen to? “Oh, no,” he muttered. “Stop. Stop it now. We are not obsessing over a ten minute encounter.”

By the time he made it to Bluebird Press’s shared parking garage, he was singing along to the eighties, nineties, and now station. He was still bouncing, humming as he gathered his satchel and gave his hair a glance. The humming ended on a grimace, but there was nothing he could do about the tangled strands without a comb in the car. Still.

The daily reminder to himself only made him sigh as he climbed out and wondered if Dipper drove. He smacked a hand to his brow. “We are not doing this. We are not thinking about him all day. No.”

“Thinking about who?”

Oh, no. “No one!”

A familiar arm swung across his shoulders, her free hand curling into a fist to sock him in the chest. “Come on, Wirt! Are you hooking up behind my back?”

“No! It's- no. There was no hooking up. No.” Cheeks burning, Wirt disentangled himself from her and straightened his sweater. “There was nothing and no one.”

She arched a brow, dropping her hands to her hips. “Okay, now I know you're lying.”

He didn’t know how she managed to intimidate him when she was shorter and slighter than him, though he suspected it was the bombastic personality. Greg claimed it was her red hair, but the bright red curls spilling from a messy bun didn't make him as nervous as the smirk on her face. “No, it was really- It really was nothing, Beatrice.”

“Tell me all about Mr. Nothing on our way inside, buddy. Let it all out. Unburden your shoulders.”

They hunched, but he went after her to avoid being left behind. It was her usual way to get him where she wanted him. “My shoulders aren't burdened.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They're not.”

“Yup.”

“It was just- It was ten minutes.”

“Ouch. No wonder you don’t want to talk about it.”

Wirt stumbled. “Beatrice! That's not- We didn't- He walked me home!”

“After?”

“No! It was-”

“Ooh. Before.”

Cheeks burning, he glared at her to find her lips curved. “Oh my gosh, fine. I was- Greg’s been talking.”

“I'm shocked.”

Wirt pressed his lips together to keep them from curving. He was still annoyed with her. “I know. Anyway, he's been talking to Sara about me being, um...”

“A workaholic loser?”

“I'm not a loser.”

“Uh-huh. But the workaholic thing flies?”

“It's- Well, I'm not. Or not exactly. I'm just trying to- Wait. I'm-” He blew out a steadying breath. “Sara decided to drag me out of the house, and-”

“Wait, you hung out with someone? Without me?”

“They just showed up! I- I couldn't say no, or-”

“They?”

“Yes. It- oh my gosh. Anyway, Sara managed to keep me out way too late. It was just before midnight when I finally left, and I guess...” He sighed. “I went down that alley you showed me? Between my complex and hers?”

“You went down an alley after midnight? Cheese and crackers, Wirt!”

“I know, I know. It was dumb. But, um, I guess I really was more exhausted than I thought because I maybe sort of fainted?”

She punched his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be taking care of yourself! If you need time off-”

“I don't! It was- I was just- I've been studying. Finals are around the corner, and it's finally my last year. So it's- They're vital. But I'm fine. We’re fine. Greg and I are-”

“Fine?”

“Good. We're good. Do you want to know about the guy or not?”

Beatrice hummed, pushing the elevator button. “Are you kidding?”

“I thought so.” Wirt poked the cement floor with the toe of his shoe, frowning when he noticed the mismatched colors. “I remember turning into the alley, and then I remember waking up to find this guy holding me up.”

“Hang on, what? Some creepy guy-”

“He wasn’t creepy.” Wirt looked up, lips pursed, and followed her into the elevator. “He was- He was going to call a cab or an ambulance for me. But then, um, he just walked me home? I was just... I was more tired than I thought, I guess.”

“So a stranger finds you asleep in an alley and walks you home. And that's not weird to you?”

“No, it's- It was nice.” Wirt rubbed the back of his hand, still able to feel the warmth of the gentle kiss. “He was nice.”

“Did you get Mr. Nice’s number?”

“No. I didn’t think... oh.” Dipper hadn’t gotten his either. Sure, he knew the building Wirt lived in, but what could he really do besides wait outside one day? That was creepy. Wirt was surprised by the clench of disappointment in his gut. He very likely wasn't going to see Dipper again. Oh.

Beatrice sighed heavily. “Astoundingly, I find myself completely unsurprised. Wirt, how many times do I have to tell you to just go for it? You just need to latch onto some hot guy and stick your tongue down his throat.”

“Beatrice!”

“When are you going to come across another guy actually nice enough to take your crazy self home, huh?”

He was saved from giving the very depressing answer by the doors opening, coworkers joining them in the small space. Wirt shuffled to the corner, in the back and out of the way, until the doors opened and he could slip out and cross the street to the old brick building that housed the editing company Beatrice’s grandparents had founded over fifty years before. Her parents still ran the company, but Beatrice and two of her younger brothers were in charge of the typical day-to-day running of things.

As Wirt entered the building, he was tempted to go back out to find Beatrice to ask her about the Hirsch series for Greg. He'd known her for ten years. As comfortable as she was teasing him about things as private as sex, he should really be more comfortable pushing for the supposed perks being her friend provided. Where was his extra paid vacation? His leniency on tardiness or calling out? His choice to edit the big names rather than the newcomers and hopefuls most hated to read?

But he didn't turn around, wary of taking that advantage. He passed the elevators, taking the stairs up the single flight to enter a wide floor of cubicles. It made him frown, the job appreciated and one he did his best with, but it wasn't what he wanted for his life. It wasn't where he thought he'd be at twenty-five. He hadn't thought he'd still have schoolbooks in his satchel, or still be reaching for his bachelor's. He hadn't really expected to still be alone.

Wirt shook his head, striding silently past the rows of matching cubicles until he found his own. Plain gray walls were decorated with photographs and scraps of poetry. His desk housed a computer monitor and office supplies, including his printer, and a shelving system housed various notebooks and binders. There were a few framed photographs scattered here and there, a seven year old one of himself and three others featured prominently. He looked towards it as he turned his computer on for the day.

It had been warm out, one of the last days of a lingering summer and the first of Wirt's college life. They'd gone to the park of his hometown just before he'd left with all his worldly possessions packed in the hatchback he still drove, and they'd taken the picture beneath an old tree. Greg had climbed into his lap, and both mom and step-dad had been at either side. He'd been scared, but hopeful for this new journey. His mom had given him a tight hug and several kisses, wishing him all the luck and giving him all her faith. He hoped she still had that faith, wherever she was.

Blowing out a quiet breath, blaming Dipper for the melancholy turn of his thoughts, he opened the programs he'd need for the day and got to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might try to do weekly updates. Though I have a trip in two weeks, so I may miss that one. But I'll do my best to stay on top of this c:

Dipper loved technology. He'd watched lightbulbs go from awe-inspiring and fear-inducing to things that were entirely common and unmentioned unless one stopped functioning. He'd watched film go from silent slides to masterpieces of motion and sound. He'd gone from having to buy tickets to every show or club that had come near them to having a little portable device in his ears when he wanted music.

But the past twenty years had been some of his favorites, computers especially. Computers were amazing, beautiful things, and the handbuilt one in his office had provided Wirt's life story for his perusal. He'd controlled himself well enough not to explore beyond his workplace, hoping to formulate a coincidental meeting, but things had turned out even better than he'd hoped.

Bluebird Press. He grinned at the squat brick building, dark sunglasses covering most of his face and his hat helping to shade the rest. The clouds were a nice buffer from the sun shining overhead as well, but there was a styrofoam cup of coffee-spiked blood in his hand just in case anyway. Never could be too careful when you were wandering about during daylight hours.

He slipped inside, tucking the sunglasses into his breast pocket, and felt immediately better beneath the artificial lights. He still found the lobby bright and charming, lips curving at the bluebirds decorating everything from the walls to the shape of the end tables. Taking a sip of his drink to help replenish blood the sun drained, he meandered towards the front desk and offered the receptionist a smile. “Hi. I'm here to see Beatrice Lynskey.”

“Ms. Lynskey is busy at the moment. Did you have an appointment?”

When she glanced up, Dipper caught her gaze and held it to seep into her mind. _Push the twelve o'clock back thirty; insert D. Pines._ “Yes.”

“Oh, of course. Your name, please?”

He watched her adjust the appointment schedule, amused. Normally, he tried to stay out of the minds of humans as much as possible, but he considered this to be important. It was better to find Wirt while he was still fresh on his mind. Humans loved coincidences as much as Dipper tended to be wary of them, but he was willing to set one up. “Pines. Dipper. It's- wow. I'm Dipper Pines.” And, okay, maybe he was a little nervous about it than he wanted to be.

“Oh, yes, you're right here, Mr. Pines. Could I just see some ID?” He handed her a blank scrap of paper from his wallet and she nodded, skimming it carefully before handing it back. “Thank you. Go right on up. The elevators are just around the corner there, or the stairs are just beyond that if you prefer. Ms. Lynskey is on the third floor.”

“Thanks.” He released his mental hold of her, easing back and strolling towards the stairs. He didn't hear anyone or anything around, didn't feel the thrumming of active cameras - which seriously wasn't safe and he'd have to slip that into Beatrice's mind when he met with her. Until then, he bounced lightly on his heels and quickly calculated how to get up to the third floor without actually using the stairs. If Mabel was there, they probably would've raced. As it was, he made it to the top floor with three careful leaps and an extra twist over the third floor railing.

Pleased with himself, he took another swallow of his drink. The cup was discarded as he passed a trash can in the little kitchenette. The bluebird motif continued even there, he noted with a wry grin, catching sight of rumpled bluebird hand towels. Cute, if a little on the nose. Was that a phrase people still used? He supposed if he was going to be spending active time with a human, he'd have to gain a more firm habit of using modern phrasing and words. But first, he had some business to attend to.

He knocked on the doorjamb of the room marked Beatrice Lynskey, waving when she looked up. “Dipper! Hey, loser, what's up?”

“Wow. I hope you speak to all your best-sellers like that.” His smirk shifted into a giddy sort of smile. “Did I mention I was a best-seller?”

“You've been one for, what, seven years?”

“Just about.” Dipper patted his chest. “It doesn't get old, though.”

“Says you. You don’t have to hear yourself talk about it all the time.” Beatrice sat back, glancing at her watch. “So what's up? I've got someone coming in at twelve to do lunch and talk about boring things.”

“That's your 12:30,” he corrected, meeting her gaze. Her mind was harder to break into than most humans, her humanity compromised by a centuries old curse. It didn’t help that her will was strong and sensible. It couldn’t all be a mental push, or he'd exhaust himself. “I'm your twelve o’clock, and you were going to show me the floor. Right?”

“No, I was... lunch is...” Her brow furrowed in confusion, but smoothed when his lips curved in an easy smile. She'd known him long enough to trust him. “After I show you downstairs, right. Still don't get why you want to look around.”

“Well, it _was_ to scope out a new editor, but now I just want to check out the decorating. Who vomited bluebirds on this place?”

She sighed heavily as she rose. “One of my sisters decided to get a so-called decorator for a boyfriend. My parents are nice, for some baffling reason, and decided to let him come in and ‘explore his vision.’”

“I see. It's... interesting. Yeah.”

“That's the nice way to put it.” Beatrice sighed, locking her office behind her. “There's a guy who works here, a really good friend of mine who'd be completely embarrassed if I said this, so you hear nothing.” Dipper swiped his forefinger and thumb across his lips as if zipping them, even flicking away an imaginary key, and she rolled her eyes. “Your sister's right. You're a complete dweeb, but so's the friend. I'm bringing it back to the topic at hand. Did you catch that suave maneuvering of the conversation?”

“I don't need dialogue tips.” He stuck his tongue out at her, but she only grinned. 

“So, anyway, he's got about half of an architecture degree with leanings toward interior design. He basically did my entire house because I poked and prodded him into it. I'm so tempted to get him to fix this place before he goes.”

“Is he moving?”

“Pssh. Worse, he's quitting. Or he will in a few months. He's only got half the architecture degree because he switched to English education. Plus, some family things slowed his momentum big time.” Beatrice shrugged, not willing to give away all of her friend’s secrets. “Basically, he's one of my best people here, and I'm losing him to a bunch of high school kids come August.” She punched the button of the elevator. “But I'm thinking that I'll let him wrap up his current projects with us and then pay him to decorate. My parents like him better than they like the guy with an actual degree, so they'll probably go along with it. At least they'd better. If I have to see those bluebird hand towels one more day, I'm going to break something like they've broken my sanity.”

He laughed, hands tucked into his pockets as they stepped into the elevator. “Your life's so hard, Beatrice.” 

“You have no idea.” She grinned at him. “Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I bet my friend would be your type.”

Dipper snorted. “Alright, Mabel.”

“What? I'm serious. He's a dork-”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, anytime, I promise. Anyway, he's a dork. He's cute in a sporadic nerd way. He's-”

“What's a sporadic nerd way?” he wondered and she swatted at his arm.

“Don't interrupt me when I'm listing off his high points!”

He edged away with a laugh. “I don't need his high points. I may have kinda-sorta already met a guy last night. I'd rather work on that before expanding the options.”

“Cheese and crackers! What was in the air last night? All my nerd friends are finding people!”

“Including sporadic nerd?”

She hummed. “Maybe.” At his bland look, she lifted her hands in a shrug. “What? He met a guy, but he was dumb and forgot to get his number. Excuse me for trying to set him up with someone who I actually have access to.”

“Except you can't give my number away because contracts,” he pointed out.

“Oh, yeah?” Beatrice huffed, tucking back a stray curl, and laid a hand over his arm. Her eyes rounded with excitement, more of the same injected into her tone. “Oh, friend, let me give you my friend's number! I think you'd hit it off.”

“Oh my god, that wouldn't even come close to flying in court.” But he was laughing as they strolled off the elevator. 

“So? You wouldn’t take us to court, and we all know it. You like my parents too much.”

“This is true. I mean, I wouldn't be able to survive without your mom feeding me every single time I visit.”

“You make it sound like Mabel never cooks.”

“Mabel cooks when she wants food, not when I do.”

“You're such a baby.” When the elevator doors opened, she shifted gears. “Alright, so you're thinking about a different editor?”

He'd been toying with the idea even before finding Wirt, so it was easy to nod. “Yeah. Fresh eyes, y’know?”

“Yeah. We rotate you through two of our senior editors, but there are a few others we can put your stuff through. How close are you with your next one?”

“It's finished.”

She stopped, and he sent her a smile. “Are you kidding me?”

Dipper shrugged. “So do you have any recommendations? They don’t have to be senior whatevers. I just want somebody...” Specific. “Different.”

Beatrice smiled slowly. “I think I know just the guy.”

“Is it sporadic nerd?”

“Might be.”

Dipper shook his head. “You're the worst.”

“Mabel’d be all over the place praising me right now, so whatever. I'm the best. But come on. I was serious about him being good, and I know for a fact that he already reads your books.”

“That's definitely a point in his favor.” Even though it had butterflies beating about in his gut. Even after seven years of publishing novels, he was still amazed by the thought of the words actually being read by someone for enjoyment. “What do you-”

“Oh!”

They collided, Dipper’s hands instinctively grasping his waist to keep him upright. The heartbeat, its rabbity pulse already familiar, beat wildly in his ears while a stack of papers pressed into his chest. So maybe there was a little something to be said for coincidence, as Dipper hadn’t planned on running into him right in the hallway. The instinctive grab gentled into an easy hold, but his hands stayed at his waist so he could search eyes that seemed so much more expressive in the light.

“O-oh! I'm- I didn't see... um... oh my gosh.” Panic, surprise, and a flicker of happiness. “I... hi.”

“Oh, Wirt, good. We were just talking about you.”

“Were we?” Dipper’s lips curved, watching the way Wirt’s gaze fell to them before quickly looking up as if caught doing something wrong. Color seeped into his cheeks, and Dipper tried to slip into his mind to soothe and relax him, but found that he couldn’t. Still. 

“This is the guy,” Beatrice explained, “and I don’t think he's going to fall anytime soon if you let go.”

“He- um. He's already gotten a pretty bad impression of me.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Dipper couldn’t help the laugh when Wirt’s wide eyes snapped to his again. He didn't really need to have a hold of his mind to know what he was thinking. Thoughts and emotions were all over his face. “You didn’t make a bad impression. I promise.”

Beatrice threw her hands up, easily putting things together. “Are you serious right now? Wirt, why didn't you tell me you met _Dipper_? That would've made so much more not-creepy sense!”

Dipper’s grin flashed. “You told her about me?”

“I, um- She made me.”

“Because he was talking to himself.” Beatrice shook her head, but paused. “So I was right! He's your type. Oh, good job, me.” Beatrice reached a hand over her shoulder to pat herself on the back. “Way to go.”

Wirt had gone stiff in his grasp, so Dipper reluctantly released him and stepped back. “If it’s any consolation, I was ignoring her matchmaking attempts. I get enough of them from my sister.”

“O-oh. Yeah.” Wirt adjusted his hold on the crinkled pages, still able to feel the warmth of his hands so secure at his hips. He was cuter in the light, the thought only increasing the warmth in his cheeks. But a smile curved his lips as it really sank in that he was there. The nice guy he hadn’t expected to see again was right there. “Oh my gosh. Hi.”

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, lips curving in response. “Hi, Wirt.”

“Wow. Hello, middle school. I did not miss you.” Beatrice sighed. “You’re both pitiful.”

“We can take our pitifulness elsewhere if you let your employees take lunch.” Dipper tipped his head to the side. “And if your employee wants to take his lunch with me.”

Oh. Oh, boy. He'd just gotten asked out. On a date because even he wasn’t blind to the obvious interest in that smile. Interest in him, of all people. Dipper’s smile took on a shade of nerves, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Please?”

Wirt found himself nodding. “I just, um- I have to put these down, and- Beatrice, are you guys-?”

“I've got another meeting in ten, and Dipper and I were pretty much done. Keep one of our best-sellers happy.”

“Right. Thanks, Beatr-” He broke off, gaze snapping to the man who was again in flannel and old jeans, these ones patched at one knee. He looked like a broke, skinny-ish former lumberjack. “Best-seller?”

Dipper laughed, pressing a hand to his heart. “Ow, man.”

“You do look more like a hobo than an author,” Beatrice pointed out.

Dipper tugged at his shirt and shrugged. He blended in. Blending in was more important than anything. “I guess. But you agreed to go to lunch with me, Wirt. We'll have to be seen together in public.”

“Well, I could always change my mind,” he teased, giggling against the back of his hand when Dipper looked utterly horrified by the suggestion. “I won't. I'm- I don’t mind being seen in public with you.”

Beatrice snickered. “This is pitiful. I'm telling both of your siblings.”

“Don’t do that. That's just mean,” Dipper protested.

“So’s the two of you flirting awkwardly right in front of me.”

Dipper hummed. He didn't quite know how to flirt without having the safety net of mind control, though that safety net was among the main reasons why it had been so long since he'd flirted all. It could be interesting doing this the way someone normal might. It might be nice to pretend to be normal for a little while. “Come on, man. We'll take our awkward flirting with us. Where are you taking these?”

“Just back to my cubicle.” Where he'd planned to spend a solitary lunch going over some backlogged material. Instead, he was going on a date. Holy moly hot dog, he was going on an actual date. He waved to Beatrice before walking Dipper to his cubicle, self-conscious nerves prickling beneath his skin.

Would he like his cubicle? Would he think the pictures were stupid? Would he actually read the poetry scraps on the walls? Wirt's shoulders hunched. He had a few published pieces out in the world, but what was tacked to his wall were nothing more than rambled musings inspired largely by monotony. And maybe he'd opened his notebook to start one on the man who had helped him home the night before.

He looked at him, heart jumping in his chest when he saw Dipper quietly watching him. There was an intensity he hadn't really caught onto the night before, but now it seemed to pour from him in waves, vitalizing the small space despite the rugged way he dressed. Patched holes in his jeans couldn't really detract from the face, or the way his dark eyes lingered on him. Wirt felt heat rush to his face yet again, finding it a little ridiculous how just the curve of his lips could send him into a near swoon. He'd gone on dates before. He'd been around attractive men before. He just hadn't been around Dipper, and the nature of both encounters were something right out of one of his more romantic poems. A midnight rescue - of sorts, but it wasn't the time to put restrictions on romance - and now he just happened to come by the place he worked and had just happened to run right into him. It was almost enough to make Wirt swoon, Dipper's very frank and open interest not helping him find his balance at all. What could someone with all this barely concealed intensity see in him?

“Now you're the one who's staring.” And Dipper wished he could find out why. It was starting to make him a little self conscious, as he'd been a human himself the last time he'd come across one he couldn't read. It intrigued him as much as the pretty face and long, slim lines compacted into a sweater and slacks that should've made him look fussy. Instead, he looked a little rumpled and soft with mismatched oxfords and finger-combed hair. It made him think of bed in the morning - rumpled, still warm, and all too easy to curl into. Wirt probably looked at him and saw a disaster. Maybe he should've dug through his closet for something nicer instead of his normal wear.

Wirt's smile was sheepish. “I'm sorry. I'm just- wow, you're really here, huh?”

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't seem like he thought this was a disaster, at least. Maybe Wirt would actually find him likeable on his own merit without any extra prodding. He was curious, if nervous, to find out. “Yeah. I wasn't really-” He didn't want to lie. There was already a huge foundation of lie just by merit of Wirt believing he was human, and Dipper didn't want to add to that foundation more than necessary. “I was kind of, um, bummed that I didn't manage to get your number last night. I just- I don't really like to take advantage when it's not necessary, so...”

Wirt nodded, setting the stack of papers down on his desk. “I, um, I appreciate that, actually. You could've maybe given me yours.”

“Yeah, see, this is where the not thinking comes in? Your face is really pretty and really distracting. Plus, it doesn't help that I haven't bothered dating in...” Decades. “A really long time.”

“Really?” Wirt looked over his shoulder, surprise chased by embarrassment. “Oh my gosh, you don’t have to answer that. I'm sorry. You just seem very dateable.”

Dipper laughed, gaze skimming the cube while Wirt gathered his wallet and keys. It looked small to him, but he loved the pictures and the scattered knick-knacks. “Is that a werewolf playing drums?”

Wirt stopped, glancing at the warped figurine. “My brother made it in art a few years ago. He has a small paranormal fixation, and his favorite author doesn't help with that at all.”

“Well, it's usually our job to nurture different beliefs.” Dipper wandered closer, carefully picking up the little clay figure. It was a little warped, but still recognizable. His lips twitched. One of the biggest changes he'd seen, for all the technological surges, it had been the evolution in society that truly amazed him. The things that went bump in the night had once been cause for huntings and fear, but were now celebrated. They wouldn't be coming out on a mass scale as real anytime soon because, well, there would always be hunters, but it was nice to know they weren't hated as a whole anymore. “Who's the author?”

“Alex Hirsch. Have you heard of him?” With a shy smile, Wirt held his hand out for the little figurine. “He's actually one of my favorites, too, which I wasn't really expecting? The first two books, I just kind of bought for Greg because he wanted them. He got so sucked in, he made me start reading them so he'd have someone to talk to and then... then I got caught up too. I was supposed to ask Beatrice if she knew when the next one was coming through, but I- You made me completely forget.”

“I may have heard of him. Once or twice.” Dipper grinned. “Come on. We'll pick this up in my car. There's a deli nearby I keep meaning to try, but I never have a reason to go in.”

“Usually, hunger's a good enough reason,” Wirt teased.

“That's why we're going now.” Dipper considered a moment before offering a hand. His last date had been in the eighties, and society had calmed down since then in a big way. It was a far from the extreme conservatism of the era he'd been born in. Women wore pants now - casually! But hand-holding had fallen a little out of practice even back in the eighties, and he wasn't sure if that had been picked back up. Or if Wirt would think it was awkward or-

His thoughts were derailed when Wirt simply took his hand, a small smile curving his lips. Dipper bit his lip, a soft laugh slipping out. That solved that. “Okay. Um. Okay. Come on.”

Dipper led him to the elevator, the two of them stepping in when the doors open. He couldn’t stop smiling at their hands. “One thing I've learned is sharing secrets in an anonymous crowd may be dangerous, but nothing’s worse than sharing them in a group of acquaintances.”

Wirt’s brow furrowed, uncertain where that had come from. "Okay."

Dipper smiled. “I didn't want to say this out there amongst your acquaintances, but I write under a pen name. It's just... easier if I do.” Safer for his family and his kind. Anonymity was becoming harder in this technological world, and the pen name had been one of the stipulations when he'd wanted to become published. “But I'm flattered that Alex Hirsch would be among your favorites, and I'm grateful that your brother got you into his books.” His smile widened. “My books.”

Wirt gaped, fingers going slack in Dipper’s. “You’re-” He scanned Dipper again, shaking his head as his own smile formed. “Maybe you look like a guy who would write paranormal mysteries.”

“Maybe?” Dipper laughed, giving his hand a fond squeeze. He liked this decade and the people in it. “Thanks a lot.”

“Well, I was trying to figure out what sort of books you would write. And those - that's a genre that fits.”

He had no idea. Dipper rocked back on his heels, amused. “Thanks, man. Just keep it under your hat, okay? It's a contractual secret for a reason.”

“I'll do my best. I don't think anyone would believe me anyway. Not- not because it's you,” he quickly added. “But because it's- I don't usually actually get to meet people. That's- that's why.”

Dipper grinned. He really was adorable. “It's fine.”

“Right. Yeah. Um. So why- why did you tell me?”

“Mm. Actual business reasons that Beatrice should probably go over with you, but I've got you.” Dipper lifted his hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back just to watch the pretty blush rise to his face again. It was so easy to hear his heartbeat in the small space, and Dipper took quite a bit of pleasure in the way it skipped out of rhythm. “Like she told you, we were actually talking about you and it was beyond her trying to set us up, I promise. I'm actually searching for a new editor for the latest one, and she suggested you.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. I need someone familiar with the books already, but I really want a fresh pair of eyes on it. This one's taking a turn and I need someone who might have a better grasp on more historical pieces? I don't know if you've got that kind of background.”

“No, I- I enjoy historical fiction. Is there a particular period you had in mind?”

“The twentieth century. Like, as a whole. The problem is slang from different decades, and I need some help balancing it from a more contemporary viewpoint because language is impossible.”

“So he's... Mikhail's time traveling in this one? How did he get away from the sorceress from the end of the last one?”

Dipper grinned. So Wirt did read his books. “Not exactly, and I never did say he escaped, but you'll have to read and find out what exactly is happening.”

Wirt's lips twitched. “Is that just your way to try and goad me into agreeing to edit for you?”

He gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow, man, wow. I would never be so manipulative! That hurts.”

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt laughed breathlessly, nose scrunching, and didn't see the way Dipper's playful move turned into a tight grip of his shirt. “I'll need to think about it, but- I'll probably end up saying yes. I just want to think about it. Okay?”

Dipper nodded, gaze lingering on Wirt's nose before meeting his gaze again. He hadn't been ready for that nose scrunch or the sound of his laugh. It made him somehow even more attractive, Dipper's heart the one beating an odd rhythm this time. It was unfair how cute that was. “That's- Yeah. Think about it all you need. I know you said you were in your finals, so I don't want to add more pressure to you. I can ask Beatrice to lighten your load some if that's the problem.”

“No.” He shook his head, lifting a hand to wave the suggestion away. “If it was too much work, I'd say so.” Maybe. “It's not that. It's- I'm not sure if I'd be able to keep that a secret from Greg.”

“Fair enough.” Dipper wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to get into Greg's mind to lock the secret into place or he'd dismiss the fear. This block could be genetic, which would be even worse since Mabel had been able to control Wirt the night before. It wasn't genetic on their end. Maybe he should call Grunkle Ford and find out if he'd ever heard of the phenomena. “I can't really keep secrets from Mabel either - my twin? She just digs in until she finds the information.”

“That sounds invasive.”

He meant it as a joke, Dipper could tell from the quirk of his lips, but it was very accurate. “To be fair, there are worse people to have digging through your secrets than a sibling. A sibling you actually like, that is.”

“That's... That's very true.”

“And now we both sound sad.” The elevator doors opened, so Dipper tugged Wirt after him. “Come on. Business and sad stuff are tabled.”

“So this isn't a business lunch?” Wirt followed him, lips quirking when Dipper sent him a bland look.

“You're kind of a dork, and I really, seriously like that.” Dipper slid his sunglasses out of his pocket and pushed them onto his nose. He could feel the sun prickling over the backs of his hands and unshaded cheeks, but had already resigned himself to not being able to access real food until he'd taken Wirt out for play food. “We'll take my car since my parking spot's less valuable than yours.”

“That's fine. Um. You're very... frank.” Wirt waved his hands, unsure what to do with them. “Not- not that that's a bad thing. Necessarily. Because it's not. It's just very- It's different? Yeah.”

“I try to be as blunt as possible. It saves everyone time and, I mean, so many problems could just be solved by people saying what they mean.” Dipper shrugged as they started across the street towards the parking garage. “Like this thing with us right now. I could've just given you my number in the office, finished my meeting with Beatrice, and we both could've gone on our way. You may have called me or you may not have. I would've probably spent the rest of the day wondering if you were going to call or not. And say you misplaced it. Then, hello missed opportunity. This is easier.

“Just, ‘Hi, Wirt, I like your cute face and you were interesting to talk to last night, even though you probably only shared so much because you were tired. Also, you seem like you might be interested in me too, so let me take you to lunch.’”

“Sometimes the slower approach works just fine,” he defended, lips quirking.

“Sometimes. But other times, it doesn't. And some people are worth taking a quick leap now and then.” Dipper looked up, pushing his hat back so he could see him above the frames. “It's been a long time since I looked at someone and thought they'd be worth a leap.”

“O-oh.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves prickling more painfully than the sunshine. “I, um, I'm sorry if I'm- If it's too much or- If I'm weird. I'm sorry. I'm- I've always been kind of... bad at... um. People.”

Wirt smiled, though he wasn't quite sure what to do about this suave bundle of nerves. He could go from smooth pickup lines to nervous rambling in the blink of an eye and both of them seemed to suit this very odd writer with his patched jeans. “I don't think you're weird, Dipper. Maybe different, and definitely not exactly what I expected when I first met you, but you're not weird.”

“Good. That's... that's good to know.” Dipper bit his lip, reaching for his hand again once they were in the safe shade of the parking garage. “So you have to tell me what you think about the decorating done in that building.”

“Oh my gosh, the _bluebirds_.”

Dipper smiled, listening quietly as Wirt rambled his complaints and ideas to fix the damage done in the old office building. He really was cute and so very sweet. It made him want to bite him.

Without his fangs and preferably in the comfort of a private bedroom, but still. He was definitely biting this adorable man again if he got the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm literally about to board a plane, but wanted to get this up, lol. Might not update next week because of this trip, but we'll see c:

“The rice is boiling over.”

“Hm? Oh! Oh my gosh!” Wirt scrambled to turn the heat down, blowing on the foam to settle the pot enough to safely stir. Luckily nothing had clung to the bottom during his distraction. You couldn't have burrito bowls without rice.

Greg watched him, tapping his pencil against his Algebra II book. “Did you hear what I said about the concert?”

“Concert?” Wirt stirred the rice, lifting the pot off the heat. “Who's playing?”

“Me.”

Wirt blinked, looking over his shoulder. “For...”

“School. Jazz band?” Greg leaned back, incredulous. Wirt was normally the one who paid the most attention to his ramblings, especially if he had something exciting going on. “Any of this ringing any bells?”

Not a one. Wirt wiped his hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of his slacks. “I'm sorry, Greg. My mind’s just... elsewhere. Flown away on wings so newly sprouted, straight to the doorstep I've yet to see.”

There was a beat of silence. “There's a guy, isn't there?”

“What? No. There's not a-” Color flooded his face, Wirt busying himself with checking chicken that was already finished. “There's no guy. Why would there be a guy? I-I mean, there's you and there's me, and we're guys, sure. But there's not a broad-shouldered, chocolate eyed, hobo-looking man with a quick smile and surprising wit, and... and, okay, so maybe there's a guy.”

Greg set his pencil down. This was far more interesting than equations. “How did you meet a guy? What's happening? Did Beatrice set you up with someone who actually doesn't suck?”

“No! Beatrice didn't- This has nothing to do with Beatrice.” Wirt shook his head, attention returning to the meal. “I met him by myself.”

“By yourself.”

He looked back at the unimpressed tone, lips pursed. “What? I know how to meet people.”

Greg scoffed quietly. In the seven years since their parents’ accident, his brother had dated a grand total of two people - Greg and Wirt agreed not to count the numerous blind dates he'd been sent on as they were inevitably disastrous. But the two they did count had been introduced to him by Beatrice and Sara. The first had lasted almost six months before breaking up with Wirt with some flimsy excuse Greg still didn't believe - his brother was _not_ boring, thank you.

The second had lasted just over a year until he'd gotten tired of being second to Greg. That had made the then thirteen-year-old guilty beyond belief. It was his job to take care of his older brother, not to accidentally sabotage his relationships just by existing. It had been two years since that break-up, two years since Wirt's last date, and two years since Wirt’s poetry had involved a tangible man and not the intangible romance he longed for and, in Greg’s wise opinion, deserved. His brother was a dork, but cool. He liked to stay at home, but his imagination was wild. He stuttered shyly, but his stubborn streak was bold.

But he absolutely sucked at meeting people on his own, and Greg knew this very well.

“Okay, but how did you really meet him?”

Wirt huffed. “I met him last night while I was walking home.”

“Wirt, you're not supposed to talk to strangers in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn't talking to strangers in the middle of the night.”

“Was it midnight?”

Wirt sighed. “Not quite.”

“Was he someone you'd ever seen before ever?”

“Alright, so technically I was talking to a stranger at midnight. _Near_ midnight. But he started to talk to me first, and he wasn't- He was fine. He was very nice and not terrifying and it was fine.”

“Why did he start talking to you? Doesn't he know not to talk to strangers at midnight?” Greg shook his head, trying to appear his wisest. “Sounds like he needs to go back to first grade, brother o' mine.”

“Greg, he's fine. It was fine. He saw me... stumble a bit and offered to help me home. It was a very gentlemanly thing to do.”

That took the conversation in an entirely different direction, Greg's wide eyes exactly what Wirt had been trying to avoid. “You stumbled? Where did you stumble? Did you fall all the way? What made you fall? Are you sick? You're sick, aren't you? And you're trying to hide it. Why wouldn't you tell me you were sick, Wirt? I can handle it. I know where the medicine cabinet is and childproof locks have nothing on me. I'm not even a child who can be proofed anymore!”

Wirt lifted the rice off the heat to set it on a cool burner to begin fluffing it with a fork. “I'm not sick. I was just- I was out too late and was more tired than I thought I was. But don't worry about me, Greg. I got plenty of sleep last night, and once finals are over, I won't be up all hours studying. We're almost done.”

Greg hummed, pushing his chair back so their cat could leap onto his lap. He scritched her behind the ear. “So he helped you because you fell over in the road?”

“I wasn't in the road.” And he still wasn't entirely sure if he'd fallen. There hadn't been any bruises. Maybe Dipper had been strolling by at exactly the right moment? He'd have to have perfect reflexes, which would fit so well with the very bizarre package he'd discovered over lunch. He never would've expected that the laid back writer had spent a couple of years as a police officer in New York! Or that he and his twin occasionally did private investigatory work. He also had a degree in computer sciences and one in engineering, and Wirt had felt so small in comparison. At least at first. He had no idea how Dipper had managed to make Wirt's meager accomplishments seem like grand leaps and his own like drops in the ocean. He was so easy and casual on the surface with his wide smiles and attentive nature, but that buzzing intensity hadn't faded. He'd half-expected him to jump up at any moment and begin pacing.

Wirt pursed his lips, getting down two bowls. Maybe it wasn't that surprising that he was a former cop and part-time private investigator after all. “Anyway, I met him again today and we had lunch.”

“Wait, what? Did you actually remember to exchange numbers after he helped you get home?”

Wirt's averted his gaze, quickly setting Greg's bowl down. “Get your things off the table so we can eat.”

“Wirt!”

“Okay, okay, no. I didn't... exactly get his number last night.”

“Then how-”

“He's an author who works with Bluebird, and he's- He showed up today. Just right out of nowhere!” Wirt's lips quirked, heart fluttering at the romance of it. And maybe a little from the embarrassment of once again falling right into his arms. He hoped it wouldn't become a habit, no matter how warm and secure his hands had felt on his waist. “He was meeting with Beatrice to talk about getting a new editor, and ended up taking me to lunch.”

Greg still wanted to be worried about him, making sure to study his brother carefully when he turned around. But he didn't look exhausted or under too much pressure. He looked happy. Greg could give this mystery guy a few points for making his brother happy. “Did you at least get his number this time?”

“Yes. He plugged it into my phone.” With a wry grin and teasing request not to leave him waiting too long. Wirt filled up his bowl and carried it to the table. “You still haven't cleared the table off.”

“Cat said no.”

“Well, brother says do it or no food.”

Greg grinned. “I'm surprised you're still hungry after lunch. Too distracted to eat?”

Cheeks coloring on a gasp, Wirt waved the question and its implications away. Greg was too young for those sorts of implications. No. “Table. Clear it.”

“Fine, fine. But Tuna wants you to know that she's offended by being moved when she just settled in.”

“Luckily for me, Tuna can be satisfied with a little bit of her namesake.” Wirt sat, setting his bowl down after his brother had pushed his homework to one of the empty chairs. Tuna was dumped in the fourth, the kitten yawning contentedly. So offended, Wirt mused, and wondered if Dipper liked cats.

“So what's the guy's name?”

“Dipper.”

“Really?” Greg laughed, filling his bowl. “I guess mom's not the only one who picks crazy names.”

“Mm-mm-mm. He, uh. It wasn't his real name? His mom started calling him Dipper when he was little, and it stuck so much that he had it legally changed.” Wirt hummed, seeing the brief flicker of sadness Greg tried to shove away. “He has a sister.”

“Yeah?”

Wirt nodded. “Her name's Mabel. They're actually twins.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Yeah. They're, um, they're pretty close since their parents died when they were kids.”

Greg was quiet a moment before he looked up, smile crooked. “Was this really a date or was it a therapy session?”

“It was absolutely a date. We just- We covered a lot of topics, and I may have been late getting back to work.”

“But you didn't work late, did you? You had your school meeting.”

“No. My manager actually said it was covered as a business lunch, so I'm actually getting an hour of overtime for it. I don't even know how it happened.” Dipper had been with him still, so he suspected that his manager had just recognized him and made an assumption. Wirt wasn't going to argue the point, though. An hour of overtime was always welcome.

“That's cool. Maybe Dipper should take you to lunch more often.”

He wouldn't say no to that, but, “I'm not going to take advantage of the company just to go on dates. This was a one-time thing because Dipper played along before I could stop him.”

Greg stuck his tongue out, kicking him playfully beneath the table. “I bet you could get away with it.”

“That doesn't mean I'm going to try.” Wirt kicked back, lips curving. “So tell me about the concert since I was possibly not paying attention.”

“You were definitely not paying attention. Too busy thinking about your boyfriend.”

“Shh!”

“You shh!”

Wirt grinned, the habit an old one between them. “Tell me about the concert. You're the one getting distracted now.”

“Only because you actually having a boyfriend is the biggest news ever. I'm texting Sara after dinner.”

“Greg!”

He laughed. “So it's next Friday. It's supposed to just be for the upperclassmen, but they're letting select underclassmen perform. So since I'm in jazz band, they want me to be one of the ones performing. It's gonna be one of the last concerts of this year, so are you gonna come? You could bring your boyfriend!”

“I'll definitely be there, sure. What time so I can write it on the calendar?”

“Around six, but I have to be there by five to setup and everything. But you should invite your boyfriend, Wirt. Don't ignore that part.”

“One lunch date doesn't mean he's my boyfriend, first of all. Second, I don't know if he'd be interested in coming. He should meet you first, and I think he and I should probably go on a second date at least before that happens.”

“Or he could meet me at the concert and be wowed by how amazing and talented I am after my drum solo.”

Wirt shook his head, but didn't want to say no outright. Dipper had certainly been full of surprises thus far, and he did have a sibling he was close to. He could want to come and understand why something as silly as a high school show would be important to him. It would be a stunning change of pace in comparison to his previous boyfriends. They never would've attended, at least not happily or without expecting something in return. “We'll see.”

“That means yes.”

“No, it means we'll see.” But Wirt dipped a hand into his pocket to touch his phone. Maybe he could invite Dipper. He could even try and be casual about it. They could go to dinner next time, and when Dipper brought him home, he'd ask Dipper to come in for coffee. Actual coffee and not code for intimacy coffee. Then he could meet Greg and he'd just say, “Oh, he's having a concert at his school if you wanted to come.” Yeah. Good plan.

If he was brave enough for it, anyway.

\----

The evening meal at the Pines house was a different affair, if only because the food came out of bags rather than off a stove. Mabel sprawled across the bench seat of their kitchen table, fangs stuck into a steadily draining bag, and sent her thoughts across the table to her busily typing brother. _You’re quiet tonight._

“Got a lot on my mind.”

_Like a certain human who works at a certain editorial company?_

Dipper didn’t bother to look up, but his fingers faltered. It really shouldn't have been a shock that she knew. “He's cute, okay? And he mumbles poetry under his breath when he gets lost in thought.” Thoughts that remained inaccessible. He finished his inquiry to his great-uncle, then looked up. “It's been almost thirty years since I was interested in someone, and this one's... really interesting. He's got a brother. He's fifteen and supposed to be a pretty good musician. Wirt's been making sure he has access to music lessons for all the instruments he wants to learn even though they've been really struggling with money between college and their apartment and, y’know, human stuff. It's amazing what he's managed in a quarter of a century. Our first quarter was basically spent with the grunkles.”

“Not all of it,” she reminded him, fangs retracting from the empty bag. “Not even half of it. The first twelve, we didn't even know they existed.”

Dipper sighed. “Okay, but still. The point is, we'd barely done anything and he seemed embarrassed to still be in college. I can’t even imagine raising a sibling while going through school _and_ working. The guy’s great. Seriously, really great.”

“And his face?”

“His face is seriously, really great. He does this, like, thing with his nose? It just scrunches up when he laughs, and he looks like the happiest sweetheart in the world.” Dipper grinned, patting his heart. “I'm taking him out again as soon as he lets me.”

Mabel smiled, picking up her knitting needles. It was nice to see her brother wrapped up in a budding romance. Usually she was the one to fall for guys and fawn over them until the inevitable break-up. And the break-up was always inevitable. They couldn’t live as they were and keep human lovers. It only led to heartbreak, be it vampire or human. It was rare for a human to be open to turning, and it was impossible to reverse. “Is he play or is he dangerous?”

Dipper bit his lip, looking up. Mabel knew far better than he, the trials of loving a human. After revealing herself to one back in the seventies, Mabel had awakened to find her lover had snuck into their home and was holding a stake above her heart. The idiot hadn’t been prepared for Dipper to tackle him, but they'd had to entirely erase themselves from his mind and skip town for a few years to avoid accidentally reconnecting.

But the danger had only come when she'd been sure he was the human for her. When she'd given him her heart, only to have him try and stake it. “I think he might be dangerous if I play too long. He's... He's got a permanent feel. But I'd rather not think about that right now. I just want to enjoy him and... who knows, right? He might be playfully dangerous.”

“Dipper, it's not right to pull him into a real relationship.”

“I know. And I don’t want to hurt him, but... Good god, Mabel, he's just-” He couldn’t think of modern words to use, so slipped back to childhood. “He's keen. Just a real keen, swell guy. And he reminds me of what it was like being human. I want to hold that for a while, and see where it goes.”

“You think he might be willing to turn?”

Not without his brother. “I'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Mabes. Just let me enjoy whatever this is for right now.”

He'd let her enjoy her boyfriends over the decades while being very careful to keep his own affairs quick and casual, so she let her smile come easily. “Only if I get to meet this keen, swell guy.”

“You already did.”

“I'd rather he remember it, goop.”

“Floozy.”

“Buzz off, ya simp.”

Dipper lifted a hand to smother the giggles. “I miss the rhythm of language back then. It was way more fun.”

“I called someone a simp at the grocery store the other day, and he thought I said chimp. Oh my gosh, it was so funny.”

“If he knew anything, he would've called you a dingbat. And rightfully so,” he teased, sticking his tongue out at her.

“You’re such a brat.”

“You only say that when I'm right.” Dipper rose to grab a bag, fangs elongating to pierce the plastic. It was too easy to remember sinking them into Wirt’s neck instead, his scent surrounding him, taste filling him. Feeding from the source was so much more intimate than dealing with blood bags, though this particular advancement had solved so many issues for their kind. He still would've preferred another sample directly from Wirt.

Dipper hummed around the bag, wondering how Wirt’s lips would taste and how long before he could find out. When his laptop pinged, he sank down. _Grunkle Ford answered._

“That was fast,” Mabel mused, double-checking the measurements for this order. “He and Grunkle Stan are normally still asleep this time of day.”

It was just past six, both twins early risers. Dipper had gone straight to bed after convincing Wirt's supervisor that they'd had a business lunch and pushing him to comp the overtime, guilty that he'd kept him out so late. It was just after three in Oregon, far too early in the day for a couple of five hundred year olds.

 _He must be working on a project_. Wondering if his grunkle would let him help, or if it was something he could help with, Dipper clicked on the email response. His brow furrowed at the simple “Call me.” That wasn't exactly helpful. He carried his bag to the sink, pouring the rest in a cup to mix with fruit punch.

“What's going on?” Mabel wondered.

“I don't know. He wants me to call.” Spoon clinking as he stirred, Dipper retrieved his cell phone to dial and put the phone on speaker so Mabel could hear about this curiosity too.

“Dipper! Good. I was looking over your email, and I wanted a few more details.”

“Uh. I don't know what else I can tell you. I just can't get into the guy's head. Mabel can, but I haven't managed it. I spent over an hour with him today and couldn't delve in even once. I can't read him, can't give him nudges.” He huffed. “I can't even get surface clues.”

“Mabel! Wait, am I on speaker?”

Dipper lips twitched. “Yeah.”

“Hi, Grunkle Ford!”

“Hello, Mabel. Was his mind easy for you to get into?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It was a little hard to hold because, wow, he's stubborn. But once he was assured that I wasn't actually going to hurt him, he settled a little. He was just a normal human.”

“Hm. Alright, Dipper, are you interested in this man?”

“Um.” He squirmed a little, taking a sip of his doctored juice.

“They went on a date today,” Mabel supplied with a giggle. “That's why they were together more than an hour.”

“Ah. Then that explains it. Your mind's blocked his.”

Dipper shook his head. “Grunkle Ford, that... that doesn't make sense. I've been interested in guys before. I mean, I've been on dates before. What about this guy is different?”

“Yes, but were those passing interests?”

“Well, yeah, but... This guy... He could be.” Maybe. It didn't feel like it.

Ford chuckled. “You sound so convinced.”

“Okay, so... what? Because this guy could maybe be something serious, I can't read him? Mabel's had serious guys and she's never run into this.”

“It's because this man could be serious that you can't read him, Dipper.”

Frowning, Dipper carried both cup and phone to the table and sat across from his twin. “What do you mean? Is this- Like, is this normal?”

“To a degree. It's a rare enough occurrence that Stan and I didn't see the point in explaining it to the two of you. To think that you're just over a century old and you're experiencing it is fascinating in and of itself.”

“Grunkle Ford, I don't get it. What am I experiencing?”

“True compatibility.”

“What?”

“It's an evolutionary block in our systems. For a moment, whether you're aware of it or not, you were able to read this man - this... What was his name?”

“Wirt.” Mabel leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. “Is true compatibility like true love?”

“No, of course not. There’s no such thing, Mabel. But it's a strong possibility for permanence, strong enough that your mind instinctively shuts him out. There's something in him or about him that triggers an old evolutionary need to reproduce. Obviously, that isn't the main goal in this sort of relationship, but that's the scientific basis.”

“So... I could love him. I could love him forever.”

“There's a strong chance of that, yes. It's a very rare occurrence, but the advantage is obvious. In a relationship, particularly one that's long term, it can be all too easy to control the other party if they're of, let's say, a weaker disposition. You are obviously stronger than a simple human, so the power balance is instantly skewed in your favor. No relationship is sustainable under those conditions, and our lifespan necessitates sustainability.”

Dipper leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. “So... this is... he could be... Is it permanent? Not being able to read him?”

“As permanent as your compatibility. If either of you begins to seriously resist or pull away from the other, the link will break. But that's even more rare than finding someone you're compatible with.”

Mabel's lashes fluttered on an exaggerated sigh. “You can say compatability all you want. I hear true love. My baby bro found his true love.”

“First of all, we are the same age. Second of all, that's-” This guy could be forever. “Oh my god.”

“Well, there's a handful of people in the world - in theory - that you would be truly compatible with. They're just difficult to find and then there's always the chance that you don't actually fall in love. Very close friends can experience the block, after all.”

But this could be love. He'd found something very rare in someone that screamed commitment, even without being able to read his mind, and it could be love. “Oh my god,” he breathed.

“I suppose that answered the main issue at hand. It's just an evolutionary stopgap that helps you find a partner. It's no different from a were's ability to locate their mate, though most of our kind wouldn't appreciate that comparison.”

“True love!” Mabel insisted, giggling. “That's so cute, bro-bro.”

“But it's not necessarily-” His phone buzzed, so he slid it closer to see the text from an unfamiliar number. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

“Is it Mr. Keen-Swell-Guy?” Mabel teased.

“It's- Yeah. He texted me.”

“Then I'll hang up. Just be sure and tread carefully, Dipper. Don't rush into anything and remember that you only have one turn per five hundred years. He has to agree to it.”

“I... I know, Grunkle Ford.” Turning Wirt. He could turn Wirt and have him as a partner for their lifespans. He'd met the man less than twenty-four hours ago, and now he was being told that they were so compatible that his own brain shut down his ability to read his mind. How was he not supposed to rush into something that amazing? “Thanks.”

“Anytime. I'm now wondering if there's anything else we've neglected to mention over the years, so I'll start making a list once I'm done with my latest project. I'm exploring compatibility between weres and us, excitingly enough.”

Normally, that would've been immediately fascinating. The different chemistry in the two species was vastly different. It should've been impossible. But his mind immediately skipped over that. “Okay, sounds good. Um. Thanks, Grunkle Ford. That was- Thanks.”

“Send me a message if you need any further clarification. Goodnight, you two.”

“Night, Grunkle Ford! Love you!”

“Um, yeah. Uh-huh. Bye.” Dipper hung up, switching to his texts.

_Hi, Dipper. This is Wirt. :) Just in case you've given your number out to anyone else recently. I just thought maybe a text would be easier than calling since you might not answer if it's not a number you recognize. But this is me. Wirt. This is my cell phone number. I almost typed “um” but I erased it, and now I'm not entirely sure why I'm sharing that with you? I'm sorry. This is just the third time I've tried to text you, and I promised myself I wouldn't erase anything. But then I erased um. Oh my gosh, I'm bad at this. This is my number. Again. I said that, huh? Um. Shoot. Bye._

Dipper's stiff shoulders settled, lips curving slowly. He'd even sent a smiley amongst his rambling. The man was really too adorable for words. _It's fine,_ he sent back. _I'll plug your number in._

He drummed his fingers on the table, switching to his calendar. “We don’t have anything planned for Friday night, do we?”

“Mm-mm. Not unless something happens with that rogue in the next city.”

“No new leads through the grapevine?”

“Mm-mm.”

Dipper nodded, switching back to his texts when a new message popped in. _Okay. Good. That's good. I'm glad you showed up today. It was nice._

Dipper smiled. _Yeah. <3 What are you doing Friday? Say six?_

“So what are you going to do about possible true love?” Mabel wondered, knitting needles resuming their rhythmic clicks.

“I...”

_There's nothing on my calendar this week._

The words had him nodding, decision reaffirmed. “I'm going to do what I planned originally.” _There is now. :) I'll pick you up._ “I'm going to see where this goes, and have fun with him.”


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Wirt noticed was the jeans. Seeing him in a pair wasn’t a surprise, particularly since he'd said to dress casually, but these didn't have patches in them. And they fit, the dark denim clinging to his legs in a way that had him swallowing. Oh, boy.

“I feel like your closet is nothing but sweaters,” Dipper teased, reaching out to tug on his sleeve. It wasn’t a very subtle way to try and hold his hand, but Wirt complied anyway.

“Says flannel and jeans.”

“This flannel is at least blue, so my color scheme is broadening. There are also plenty of t-shirts to wear under the flannel, so my closet’s not _that_ predictable.” Dipper grinned, leading Wirt to the SUV parked at the curb. He released his hand to open the door for him. “But I didn’t mean anything bad about it anyway. I'm really liking your sweaters. My sister makes them, and I don’t honestly think I've ever seen her wear the same one twice in the same month. She'll probably end up making you one.”

“Would that be a good thing?”

Dipper smiled. She'd been making clothes for a more than a century, her talent evident in every stitch. Her sweaters were flawless, and he imagined this slightly rumpled man would look very nice in one. “Absolutely.”

Dipper closed the door and joined him on the driver's side, buzzing with excited nerves. This very cute man was interested in him. This very cute man could be his partner for all their days. It was so different to be sitting next to someone he could have a future with. The only person he'd had in his entire life had been his twin and, from twelve onwards, his great-uncles. Or, well, his tenth or so great-uncles a few times removed, but it was just easier to shorten it. They were family, and that's what mattered. That had always mattered to him. But he'd be lying if he ever said that it wasn't lonely. The list of friends they'd managed to make was extremely short, limited to fellow immortals of varying species. But none of them had ever caught his attention like this man in his sweaters and hesitant smile.

And that dumb, amazing nose scrunch.

“So have you ever heard of Corduroy's?”

The nose scrunched, but it wasn't from laughter. “The nightclub? Dipper, I'm not dressed for a nightclub!” Nor was he entirely comfortable going to one.

He laughed, merging into the proper lane. “I know. The nightclub part's not even open yet anyway since, as much as I'd love to dance with you, I didn't think that would work for the first date. Well, first pre-planned date. I'll have to wait for another night to get you that close.”

Wirt shifted a little in his seat, trying to eye Dipper as casually as possible while his cheeks colored. He wouldn't necessarily mind getting close to him either, but the idea of dancing with him was a mortifying one. He didn't dance and it would be awful if he tried. “Then, um, why are we going to Corduroy's?”

“Because the food's good and there's an upstairs for those not interested in what goes on downstairs.” And it catered to his kind, so he wouldn't have to starve as he'd been too nervous to eat earlier. “When Mabel's in the mood to go, which is way more often than should happen, I spend most of my time hiding upstairs. You can still hear the music and that's all I really care about anyway.”

“So... you don't normally dance?”

“There's not normally someone worth dancing with.” Dipper glanced over, lips quirking as he let a hand drift from the wheel in silent offer. “I wouldn't say no if you offered, though.”

Wirt slipped his hand into Dipper's easily, smiling when he laced them. He'd never been with someone who liked holding hands this much, but he didn't mind. Far from it, in fact. His hands were surprisingly smooth, but warm and sure when they gripped his. He adored the way their fingers fit together, slotting like puzzle pieces. It made his heart skip a beat or two. He wasn't yet sure how Dipper Pines might fit into his life, but he was interested in finding out. He was interested in trying, and hadn't been in a long while. “I don't dance, but... I might be willing to try if it's you.”

“I'll have to keep that in mind.” And he would if the opportunity presented itself. They didn't need to go to the floor to dance if they had their own dining room on the second floor.

“How did you find out that there was a second floor? Beatrice has dragged me a few times, and I've never noticed it.”

“It's a little... um...”

“A little um?” Wirt prompted, thumb rubbing gentle circles against his skin.

“It's a little on the exclusive side? It's just- it's very private dining. Unless you own a room, you have to call ahead and see if there's any availability. So we're fine.”

Wirt stared at him. How expensive was this date going to be? He'd gotten them a private room on the second floor of a very popular nightclub, and did so regularly! Wirt thought of the books he'd had to read on plumbing when the landlord had gotten irritable about fixing their pipes beneath the sink, and he'd been unable to afford a proper plumbing service. He knew, intellectually, that Dipper would have more money than him by way of his employment, but he hadn't quite been prepared to face it like this. “You... you rented a room just so we could go on a date. We could've gone anywhere, Dipper. You didn't have to do that.”

“Oh, no, you're so sweet.” Dipper glanced over, grin crooked and probably meant to be reassuring. Wirt wasn't reassured. “I didn't rent a room, though I absolutely would've if necessary. Mabel and I own one.”

“What?”

“It was a gift from Wendy. Um. Wendy Corduroy? We've been friends for...” More than a century. “Since I was a kid. She was fifteen and we were twelve, but she still treated us like we were people and not the bratty, clingy kids we probably were. So when we moved out here, she picked her business up from New York and brought it down here. One of her brothers runs the one up there now, and she gave us a room because she knows I'm not, like, a huge party guy.” Dipper squirmed a bit, wondering if he'd made the wrong choice. It would be so much easier to slip into his mind to find out for sure. “I mean, we- We don't have to go. It's just- I- I don't know. I'm sorry.”

Wirt quickly shook his head. “No, it's fine. I just... wasn't expecting it.” And it was sweet that he'd been given a room as a present just to have a safe place amongst the more energetic partygoers. “You do seem more like a party guy, though.”

“That's because we've only had one-on-one time together. In crowds I'm not really... There’s a limit. And once I hit that limit, I've just got to skedaddle.”

Wirt’s lips curved. The way Dipper's “likes” and “mans” were interspersed with antiquated jargon never failed to amuse or interest him. He did wonder if the words came from the research he must’ve done for the latest book in his series, but he enjoyed hearing them. Strictly from a poetic perspective, Wirt almost obligated to cherish long lost phrases. And, well, maybe because they just sounded so cute and harmless coming from a lumberjack. “I can empathize. Too many people make me feel... suffocated, I guess. All of their energies just pressing in on me makes it hard to breathe.”

“Don’t worry.” He'd always been the protective sort, and it was all too easy to slip right into that mode with Wirt. Beyond the fact that this was the first relationship he'd ever had that held a promise for a real future, the man was just sweet and as harmless as the bunny his heartbeat reminded him of. There was an underlying strength there, too, that was too interesting to be overlooked, but it didn't stop him from wanting to put himself in front of anything that came his way. “I won't make either of us get crowded longer than we can handle.”

Wirt smiled, unsure why he found it easy to trust him. They hadn't known one another a full week, but in the two days since their lunch date, he'd thought of little else. He was dying to know if the curls peeking out from beneath the old cap were as soft as they looked. And every time his teeth sank into his bottom lip, he wanted to run his tongue over the little leftover indent to soothe it. He couldn't imagine Dipper being anything but welcoming, but Wirt wasn't nearly bold enough to move that quickly. It was only the second date. He normally didn't even consider kisses until the third, or until they met Greg. Normally, it was meeting Greg that made or broke a relationship. If there was even going to be a relationship. No one had said that this thing with Dipper was going to be a relationship. Nope. Nobody at all.

But he wanted there to be. He could actually see there being one. He was just such a nice, easy guy to talk to and be around. He was sweet enough to walk him home, careful enough not to push him where he didn't want to go, and just... well, he was just nice to look at. The third reason was just shallow, and he knew that, but it was an undeniable factor when he found his gaze roaming his face again. The sunglasses he didn't seem to go outside without covered much of it, but he knew eyes like chocolate lay beneath dark frames. Meltable and warm, able to catch his attention with little more than a flicker.

His hand was squeezed. “You're staring at me. I'm starting to think it's going to become a theme in this relationship we've got brewing.”

Wirt's heart skipped a beat, Dipper immediately glancing over to make sure he hadn't said the wrong thing, but Wirt only continued to smile at him. “I just, um, I like looking at you. You're very nice to look at.”

The blush was immediate. “Oh. Um. Okay? That's- okay. You can- Yeah. Just stare all you want then, yeah.”

Sweet. Yes, he was very sweet. And it was nice to be on the same page as him. This was a budding relationship, not a fling. Wirt didn't do flings. Between his emotional nature and having to care for Greg, he couldn't do less than stable. Flings were far from stable. “You're pretty much adorable.”

“Wow.” Dipper looked over, eyes wide behind the dark lenses. He slid them off with the sun disappearing behind them to better see him and his lovely smile. “No one's called me that since I was a kid.”

“Mm-mm-mm. I think you've been around the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” Dipper lifted his hand to his lips. “I'm around you now, though.”

“Yeah.” Romantic and sweet and, gosh, he made that seem so effortless. Others in his past had either never done it or had made it seem awkward, but Dipper's warm breath against the back of his hand and the careful pressure of his lips sent tingles up his arm and right down his spine. “Are you always this romantic, or am I catching you on a good day?”

“No and no. It's actually been on the side of horrible, but I had to wake up early.” And deal with a dead human way too close to the city limits for his liking. He and Mabel had both been hoping the rogue would be caught in the next city over or head elsewhere, but neither seemed to be happening. And now he had a human he very much wanted to protect.

Wirt's brow creased. “Do you- We don't have to do this tonight if you had a bad day.”

“No! No way, man. I've been looking forward to this all day. You've already kicked my mood far away from horrible.”

“Are you sure?”

Dipper pulled into the alleyway beside the club, offering Wirt a smile after shutting the car off. “I'm completely sure. Trust me.”

He wasn't sure why he did, searching Dipper's gaze. There were secrets in those dark eyes, but Wirt found himself giving Dipper's hand a squeeze. It was easy to feel safe with him, this bizarrely shy yet outgoing man. Besides, it wasn't as though he didn't have his own secrets. “Alright.”

“Okay. That's good. Keen. Cool. I mean- yeah. Come on.”

Keen? Wirt bit back a giggle, pushing open the door to follow him. “Are you going to just leave your car in the alley?”

“No, Thompson'll take care of it. He's the only one of these guys I'd trust with a set of keys.”

“Why would-”

“Dipper! Hey, man!”

He glanced up, ready to send an easy greeting back, but panic skittered along his skin. Tail. Tail, tail, tail- _Lee, he's human!_

The blond werewolf, who had very clearly not made it out of the seventies sane, breathed in carefully. Dipper listened to his thoughts scramble until one stood out. _Whoa, sorry, dude! Just erase it from him, and I'll put it away._

Dipper sighed. _I can't._

Wirt shuffled his feet, unsure what to think as the two of them continued to stare at one another. “Um... Are you, um, having a theme night?”

Lee blinked at him. “Yes. We're totally- Dude, that's exactly what's happening. Animal theme night. It's a total surprise.”

_Wendy's going to kill you_ , Dipper thought and Lee shrugged. “So this is Lee. He's technically a bouncer.”

“Technically?”

Dipper grinned. “He's lazy.”

“Ow, man. Don't drop truths like that. It's not cool.”

“So where's Thompson at? I need a hiding spot for my car.” _And there had better not be any full changes in that freaking building. I swear._

_None that I know of_. Lee jerked his thumb towards the door. “He's helping Tambry stock the bar. I came out 'cause I sm... heard your car. Wendy told us you were bringing a date.”

“Oh, god. Stick with me. I'll protect you from their prodding.” Dipper tucked a secure arm around Wirt's waist, but started to let go immediately when he tensed. “I-”

Wirt laid a hand on his, keeping it at his waist. “It's okay. I just- I wasn't expecting it, but it's okay.”

Dipper bit his lip, relaxing beside him until Lee had him rolling his eyes. “I'm so telling Wendy that you're lame.”

“Yeah, well, I don't think she'll be that surprised.”

“I, um, I don't think you're lame,” Wirt defended, a little shaky in his tone, but his chin lifted a bit.

Dipper laughed, giving him a companionable squeeze. “You don't know me very well yet. Come on. Let me go toss Thompson my keys and we can hide upstairs.”

“Dude, you actually brought a date here and you're going to hide? Come on!” Lee protested, snickering.

_He's human and your tail is wagging. Don't push it, wolf._

Lee grinned, stilling the instinctive motion of his tail. _Whatever, fangs._ He trotted back up the steps of the side entrance, holding the door open. “Come on in. Kitchen opens in thirty, but everything's pretty much ready to go back there.”

“We should be good. I just really need a drink.”

“Regular or are you looking for something stronger?”

Dipper waved a hand. “One of Mabel’s, but no drunks.”

Wirt looked over, distracted from his perusal of the club - it looked so different before it opened, with the lights on and the music a low backdrop for the staff. That was an odd way to say no alcohol. “What sort of drink is it?”

Dipper pursed his lips, struggling to remember the normal name of it. “Um.”

“A Shirley Temple with a boost of something extra,” Lee supplied. He was more acquainted with human names and ways of ordering. “Well, two extras if you're Mabel. They've got this condition, right, so Wendy keeps a stock of their medication for when they pop in.”

“A condition?” Wirt studied him, frowning. “Is it- Are you both okay? Is it serious, or- Wait, I'm- It's not really my business. I'm just...” There was something awful about the idea that the man he was just starting to know had something so wrong with him that he took regular medication for it.

“It's fine,” Dipper assured him, biting back irritation at Lee to soothe. This, at least, had an old excuse attached. “It's basically an advanced anemia? Sort of a genetic thing with my grunkles having it too. The meds just get mixed into what we drink and help our bodies produce blood.”

“It's why he's so pale,” Lee added. Dipper punched his shoulder. “Cool it, fangs. I'm just screwing with you.”

“Fangs?”

He was seriously starting to regret picking this place. They could've gone anywhere. He could've excused himself from the table at any point to grab a bite in the bathroom, as awkward as that could've been. It would've been better than these constant close calls. How was he supposed to explain away a nickname like _fangs_?

“It's, uh...”

“Hey, my favorite dork’s here!” The punch to his shoulder was welcomed only because it meant he had some sane backup. “What's up, Dipper? I let the guys know you were bringing a date for once.” She grinned, holding a hand for Wirt to shake. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Wirt shook quickly, surprised by the strength of her grip, and was amused to find the tall redhead in green flannel. Was that a common theme among Dipper’s friends? Lee wasn't in flannel, but Wirt was fairly confident that - if confused by - the tye-dye shirt and baggy cargo shorts were part of their theme night. “Um. It's- it's nice to meet you.”

“You too, man. It's Wirt, right? Dipper told me when he called to set this up.”

“O-oh. Yeah. That's- that's me.” And if she was who Dipper had called... Oh, boy.

“This is Wendy,” Dipper explained, though Wirt had already figured that out. “She’s more tolerable than Lee.”

“That's not saying much.”

“Hey, man, that's not even cool.”

Wirt gently nudged Dipper’s side. “Is it keen?”

Wendy snickered. “You did _not_ say keen to this guy, did you? Geez, it's not 1916 anymore.”

Dipper frowned. She was around humans more than he was, so adapted more easily to their shifts in language. His own adaption had too many skips and shifts to allow for consistency, and he definitely didn't appreciate the flaw being pointed out when he was trying to come off as normal. “It just- It slipped out, okay? It's not a thing.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever, fangs.”

“Please stop calling me that, oh my god.” Dipper could've died. _Wendy, you know I can't control this human!_

She glanced at him, brow furrowed as her mind scrambled and Dipper had to pick out the thought directed towards him. _Then why does Lee have his tail out?_

He shrugged. _Because he's an idiot? Oh my god. He told Wirt it's for a theme night._

Wendy snapped her gaze to Lee, momentarily horrified before she pushed it away to not confuse the human too badly. She placed a hand on her heart even though Dipper could hear absolutely plots of murder running through her mind, all of them aimed at the clueless Lee. “But we like calling you fangs.”

“Wendy,” Dipper groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

Wirt, feeling as though he was missing about half the conversation, folded his arms across his chest and tried not to feel crowded. “I, um... Why?”

“Because of Dipper’s oral fixation.”

“Wendy!”

She snickered, jerking her thumb towards him. “He bites his lip basically one hundred percent of the time, and he chews on his pens until they break in his mouth. When you see that happen a few dozen times, the nickname just seems to fit. Pretty sure Robbie started it.”

It was a nice save and, well, it also wasn't a lie, so Dipper had to give her some bonus points for it. But he was still trying not to die, embarrassed color rising to his face. “Will you just, like, not tell him mortifying things about me? Please?”

“You came to the wrong spot if you wanted to cling to dignity, pal. Besides, it's date two? Better that he knows sooner rather than later that you're a total dweeb.”

Eyes rolling, Dipper tossed his keys to her. “Pass those to Thompson. We're gonna head up.”

“You got it.” She passed him a different key, the tag on it blue. “Don't make it a huge mess, okay?”

“But I was planning to pour my drink on the floor.” Dipper tucked his arm around Wirt's waist again. “Come on, man.”

“O-okay. Um.” He waved to the other two. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Wirt.”

“Peace, dude.”

Smile amused, he went along towards the back of the room to a door he doubted he ever would've noticed were the lights not on. It was solid black, blending into the wall but for the faded “VIP” painted in the same dark purple as the star on the doorknob. The key let them in, Dipper lifting a hand in a wave when a tattooed man with a tail called out. “That'd be Nate. When I was twelve, I thought he and Lee were dating.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was crushed when I found out that they were both straight. Thompson ended up being gay and terrified of it since he's-” Oh. Oh, geez, he couldn't explain alphas, betas, and omegas to a human. “He's, uh, one of those guys. Y'know? But he came around eventually. By that point, I knew more about being gay than he did, so that was weird.”

“Mmhm. I guess he avoided coming out for a while?”

“Pssh. Fifty years.” Dipper glanced over. Wow, he was bad at talking to a human. “I mean- I mean, um...”

“It felt that way,” Wirt supplied, taking the steps with him. It was a little disappointing that Dipper had to drop his arm so they could move comfortably. “It's okay. I understand hyperbole.”

Dipper smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

“You know you don't have to... Well, um, it seems like your friends embarrassed you, but it's okay. I don't think you're a dweeb because you bite pens.” And definitely not because he bit his lip, gaze dropping when Dipper's teeth sank in. “I, um, I think it's cute.”

With a laugh, Dipper leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Out of all the people I've met in life, you still manage to be unique.” At the top of the stairs, he gestured for the first door. “Our safety net for the evening.”

He smiled, reaching out to trace the pine tree emblem on the door, the symbol a perfect match for the one on his old ballcap. Beside it was a golden star with a few streaks of color leading from it. “I guess the shooting star would be your sister?”

“Yup. She used to wish on them when we were little, then started stitching them into her dresses. She came up with that one in-” The fifties. “College. And she's got it as her label for the clothes she makes, and it's the main symbol on her favorite sweater.”

“Did she always want to make clothes?”

“Oh, wow, no.” Dipper pushed open the door, holding it open for Wirt. “She's bounced from career to career so much, it makes me dizzy.”

“Okay, Officer Pines.”

He'd been a private in the cavalry, a cop, a musician, a carpenter, an engineer, and an actor. But there was one thing that had never changed in all his years. “I may have gone through a few careers, but it wasn't because I didn't know what I ultimately wanted.”

“Writer or private detective?”

“Yes.” Dipper grinned at the bemused look thrown over Wirt's shoulder. “I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a brat. It's just... I always wanted to investigate mysteries, and I always wanted to spin a good yarn. Being a cop was... It was impossible.” Things had advanced very far since the thirties, but he suspected that certain things hadn't changed at all. “Dealing with all the red tape sucked and it was just brutal on an emotional level. There's still some of that doing it privately, but it's easier to put things away when they're not all I see and deal with and only working on one case at a time is nice too. I can actually devote serious attention to it, and Mabel's the best partner to have ever.”

“Are you ever worried about her?” Wirt wondered, taking his gaze over the private room. It was more spacious than he'd expected for a private dining room, but he supposed having two tables and a booth allowed for more seating if the twins decided to have a party of some sort. The far wall was just one long window that made him feel a little self-conscious, Wirt folding his arms and cupping his elbows. Anyone could just look up and see them, though he'd never noticed the rooms up there before. That didn't mean no one else had. His time there was generally spent avoiding the grinding bodies as much as Beatrice would let him, not searching for secrets.

Dipper's laugh had him looking back. “I don't think anyone's ever asked me if I worry. That's usually the first thing people know about me.” He grinned, Wirt's shoulders easing their hunch. “We're obviously doing this all wrong. You know more secrets than obvious facts.”

“I guess we'll have to see if we can remedy that obvious flaw.”

“We'll do our best.” Dipper looked between the tables and the booth, weighing the pros and cons of either option, and decided to leave it to Wirt. “So do you want one of the tables or the booth?”

“Um. The booth's further from the window, so there's fine.”

Dipper chuckled, wandering further into the room to rest his palm against the window and look out at the final preparations for the club's opening. “You don't have to worry about falling through if that's the problem. It's pretty unbreakable. You could probably crash a car into it and only get a crack.”

That was very good to know, but it wasn't the problem. “No, it's just... I don't really like to, um, be seen? If- if I'm not ready for it, I mean. And when you said private room, I thought...”

“Oh!” Dipper looked back, grin back on his face. “Yeah, sorry. No one can see up here. It's two-way, so we can see out, but all anyone else sees when they look up here is... the lights, basically. It makes the ceiling look bigger or something.”

“Oh.” Wirt turned to hide his embarrassment, still sinking down into the booth. He toyed with the two-sided menu he found on the table, keeping away from the drink side to skim the food options. There weren't many, but he knew that what was offered was delicious.

Dipper sank down across from him, covering his fidgety hand. “We can still go somewhere else.”

“No, this is fine. It's better than fine, really. I'm just... I'm trying not to look dumb, and I'm not doing a very good job of that.”

“You're okay, I promise. I think I've come off as worse than you at this point. My friends aren't great at being wingmen.” Dipper looked down at their hands, humming. “That's the term, right?”

“Yeah. But if I'm not coming off as dumb, then neither are you. I appreciate you thinking of this place. Somewhere you knew we'd be secluded.” And in a place that wasn't completely private because he doubted he'd be comfortable alone at Dipper’s or even his own home.

“And safe from any attempts of my cooking.”

Wirt's lips twitched. “Are you not a good cook?”

“I am the _worst_ cook. It's really bad. Sometimes I can kind of not burn something over an open flame, but that's only sometimes and kind of. And, I mean, it's basically impossible to find an open flame nowadays, so there you go.” He shrugged, turning Wirt's hand over to trace the lines of his palm.

Wirt watched him quietly for a moment. “So I guess your sister does the cooking.”

“Yeah.” He laughed, though the hitches in Wirt's lifeline concerned him. He knew way too much about palmistry to be healthy, honestly, but it had proven to be a useful skill now and then. During the spiritualism movement, it had gotten him and Mabel plenty of quick cash and, once, they'd both gotten in to see Houdini. They still had his autograph. “When she feels like it, anyway. Are you teaching Greg to cook?”

“Very, very slowly. It's the same process with driving, to be honest.” Wirt tried not to panic when Greg got behind the wheel or behind the stove, but he still tended to look at and see a little kid rather than a capable teenager. The stove was a little easier to deal with since he could step in at any time and take over. He couldn't do that in a car with other drivers and, yeah, no. “I'll just always see my kid brother, and that's not really conducive to teaching him grown-up tasks. It's one of the reasons why he calls me Worry Wirt.”

“Seriously?” Dipper looked up from his palm, thumb caressing gentle circles on his love line as if that would help this process along. “I'm so glad my name can't be played with that easily, or I know Mabel would come up with something similar. She already calls me Dipdop half the time.”

“That's not as bad as Worry Wirt.” But he smiled, watching Dipper's fingers play over his hand. It was intimate without being invasive, pleasant sparks buzzing in his mind. “She doesn't call you fangs?”

“Can we not talk about that nickname?” Dipper winced. “Geez, man. That's the worst.”

He grinned when Wirt's nose scrunched, his adorable laugh spilling out. “I'm sorry. It's just- It's so different? I just- I couldn't help it. Oh, boy. I'm sorry.”

Dipper lifted Wirt's hand, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm just to watch the laughter melt into surprise and a shy sort of delight. “Y'know, things should make you happy more often.”

“Um. I, um. Why?”

“So you can laugh more. And so I can look at you while you do, but that's just a bonus.”

“Oh my gosh,” he breathed. How was he so effortlessly romantic? It should've been more suspicious, and likely would've been if he wasn't awkward or embarrassed half the time too. And, as he'd said, his friends made for awful wingmen. If he was trying to just act suave and cool, they would've ruined that quickly. So this was just Dipper Pines showing genuine interest in him. Oh, boy. What was he supposed to do about this man?

“Too much?”

“Mm-mm. That's- You're good. Fine. Yeah. I mean- I don't mean ‘yeah, too much.’ I meant ‘yeah, you're doing fine.’ Does that- I'm sorry. That didn't make sense.”

“It did.” Dipper laughed, lowering his hand back to the table to lace their fingers together. “Is it mean that I like flustering you almost as much as I like seeing you laugh? You're seriously adorable with that very pretty, expressive face of yours.”

“You can't keep saying sweet things to me,” Wirt protested. “I write enough poetry about you already without-” _Oh._ “Um.”

Dipper lifted a hand to try and muffle his laugh, but it didn't work well. “You write poetry about me?”

“Well, you know, it's not- I've written one or two so far. That's not creepy, is it?”

“No.” Dipper smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. He hoped his instincts were right about this man. His cute, expressive face and his shy stuttering and penchant for poetry. He wouldn’t mind this in his life for a long, long time. “You’re far from creepy, Wirt. Trust me.”

Wirt's lips curved in a slow smile. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating this sooner; fell into Voltron hell, whoops

They hadn't danced. It was a small regret they both had while Dipper drove Wirt home, but there would be another chance. They were both sure of that, having stayed out much later than either had planned. It was rare for both of them to find someone they could talk to so easily, both sharing quite a bit with the other. Wirt had even confessed to playing the clarinet. He never told people about the clarinet, but Dipper's instant fascination had made him smile. Dipper, apparently, played several instruments, but he'd gushed about the sousaphone and had parted with facts about Sousa that Wirt never would've guessed at.

He had a lot of facts stored in his brain that were very bizarre and strangely detailed, but Wirt blamed the attention to detail on his writing. Which they'd also discussed in length. He'd even gotten Wirt to agree to be his editor, Dipper promising not to turn the book into Beatrice until Wirt's finals were done so he could mentally handle a new project. It was so interesting to find Dipper fascinated by his courses, and he wasn't sure what to think of his assurances that he was “seriously impressed, man. You've managed a lot in your first quarter.” It was cute how he thought of life that way, splitting them into quarters. “Eventually, I'll move on to half centuries, but I've got a ways to go before then,” had been his response to Wirt's comment on it.

Dipper was just a very interesting man who tended to glance over his own accomplishments to focus on Wirt's, drawing him out of his shell and providing praise that seemed so uniquely sincere. It was almost like he was talking to an old man between the occasional outdated phrase and the way his facts seemed tempered with personal experience. But he was still energetic and eager and the intensity was laced with a playfulness that was nothing but youthful.

All of it wrapped in a handsome package with an awful fashion sense, though Wirt was finding the jeans and flannel more and more charming. It was sweet that he'd worn a pair of pants without holes and the flannel seemed new enough. He was trying. And Wirt was feeling comfortable enough to try too.

As they pulled to a stop at the curb outside of his apartment, he fiddled with the strap of his seatbelt. “Do you... want to come up for coffee? Not- not the euphemism kind. But actual coffee.”

Dipper grinned. “Do I get to meet Greg?”

He asked like it was a privilege. Wirt smiled, checking the clock on the radio. “Well, it's almost eleven and he should be in bed right now, school night or not, so... You probably will. He doesn't like to adhere to a bedtime.” Especially when Wirt wasn't home. “But would you not come in if I was just asking you to spend a little more time with me?”

They both knew it was a tease, but Dipper still took Wirt's hand on his and lifted it to his lips. “Nope.”

Wirt gasped. “Dipper!”

“I'm kidding! You know I'm kidding.” Dipper gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it. A twist of the key shut the engine off, and he unhooked his seatbelt.

“Well, maybe now I don't want you to come in.” Wirt wrinkled his nose just to watch Dipper's gaze drop to it, amused, and stepped into the cool night air.

He'd never had a date last nearly six hours. Really, he'd never had one that lasted longer than one unless there was a sleepover involved. And he'd certainly never left a date this certain he would go on another after just two. He could see something with Dipper that wasn't just a passing fad. This could be a longterm sort of thing, and it had been ages since he'd thought of something long term. It really just hinged on Greg's reaction to him and his reaction to Greg. In theory, a little live-in brother wasn't a big deal. In practice? They'd just have to see.

It was more than a little frightening to think that if they didn't like one another, he'd have to set this potential relationship aside. He really, really wanted to keep Dipper. The relationship. The possibility for a relationship, right. He looked over as he unlocked the door of the complex, a little surprised to find him still on the sidewalk. “Are you- are you okay?” Permission to enter had been rescinded with the little “maybe” tease, so he was stuck in place. “Um... Yeah. I'm fine.”

Wirt smiled, holding out a hand. “You don't have to be nervous about this. He's just a teenager.”

“He's also your brother.” And the only family he had, so maybe more nerves were prickling under the surface than Dipper wanted to admit.

“I know. That's why I want you to meet him. So come with me if- if you haven't changed your mind, or...”

Permission had him able to step forward, slipping his hand into Wirt's. “I haven't changed my mind. I want to meet the people who are important to you, y'know? I just- I kind of suck at meeting people by myself.”

“You know Beatrice already, so that's one person in my life who likes you. She's been asking me about you all week.” Wirt carefully laced their fingers together, leading him into the lobby. “I think at this point you just need to meet Sara and Greg. There are a few other people in my life, but those are the three really important ones.”

“Well, you've met Wendy and you're bound to meet Mabel soon enough. She keeps asking me about you, too, and telling me what Beatrice finds out.”

“What?”

“You'll learn quickly that Mabel's... nosy. She's also in love with love, so matchmaking is her forte. Since it's been a long time since I bothered swimming in the dating pool, that just makes her double her efforts.” Dipper shrugged. “Don't worry. I know when to tune her out and when to actually take her seriously.”

Wirt hummed, stopping in front of one of the doors. He knocked carefully and, after a few moments of shuffling, an old woman pulled it open. “Hi, Mrs. Daniels.”

“Oh, Wirt. Finally back from your date, hm? I was wondering if you'd gotten lost or...” Both brows lifted high when she caught sight of Dipper, who could think of nothing to do but wave while he seeped into her mind and grabbed as much information as he could about the man beside him. He'd been a very cute kid. Shy and quiet and careful. Hurting. Dipper's heart ached for the six year old who didn't know how to deal with his parents' divorce, who expected his mom to leave him the way his dad had. Then the nine year old who hadn't wanted his music teacher for a dad. They weren't in-depth flashes, as she'd only been a babysitter for him, but they were enough for him to understand why Mrs. Daniels had an abundance of pride for the man he'd become. “Brought him home, I see.”

“Yeah. I, um, I wanted him to meet Greg.” Wirt folded his arms defensively, tugging lightly at the ends of his sleeves. “Has he- He hasn't given you any trouble, has he?”

Her laugh was like a staccato note, a quick sound that had Dipper's lips curving. “Not a bit. He's been busy with those video games, and I heard him strumming that old ukulele of his a few times. But he's no more trouble than you ever were.” She took her gaze over Dipper. “Now you look like trouble.”

“No, ma'am.” He grinned. “Well... maybe a little.”

Mrs. Daniels laughed again. “Good. Wirt could use a little bit of trouble.”

Color washed into Wirt's face. “Mrs. Daniels.”

“Now don't you act like I'm not right.” She wagged a finger at him, lips curved in wicked amusement. “You need a man who's going to light a fire under that behind of yours.”

When Wirt looked at him, Dipper shrugged. “It won't be a painful fire, I promise.”

“Dipper!”

He laughed, slipping an arm around his waist. “Listen to your elders, man. They're wiser than you.”

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt bumped their hips together. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Greg, Mrs. Daniels. I'm sorry for coming back so late.”

“It's no trouble. I like the late night television just fine. Now you two go on. Finish your evening.” She waved them away, Dipper knowing when she did that the door across the hall had opened and a curious teenager poked his head out. He glanced back, a little uncertain of his reaction to having his arm around his brother's waist.

Greg watched them for a quiet moment before his lips curved. “So you're the vampire.”

“Greg, stop it,” Wirt turned, sighing while Dipper went a few shades paler. “I'm sorry. He's been on this vampire kick since the day you helped me home.”

“Because you've got vampire bites on your neck, and he's the only person you met that night.” Greg leaned against the doorway, nodding his certainty. “He's got to be a vampire.”

“He's not a- They're bug bites!” Wirt huffed, rolling his shoulders up to help hide his neck and the bandaid he'd placed over the two marks to get his brother to stop pointing them out. Of course it would be too much for his brother to behave. He looked up to apologize to Dipper, but found him staring oddly at Greg. “Dipper?”

“Hm?” He shifted his gaze up to Wirt, blinking once as new information poured into him from Greg's mind. It was a much more complete picture than he'd gotten from Mrs. Daniels. Far more complete and far more incredible. While Mrs. Daniels had a highlight of the kid, Greg had a highlight of the teenager and beyond. And, sure, the teenager had been a rocky experience but Greg had taken it in a sweet, oblivious sort of way. His brother had just been his brother. But it was the drowning that had changed things, that had turned a neglectful older brother into a best friend. He'd been steadily growing into a fine young man, but had been forced very suddenly into adulthood. There had been stumbles here and there - he and Greg could both see them - but there was nothing but admiration and love from the kid. Complete and utter trust that Wirt would always be the best leader he could be.

He was a really good guy. Sweet and harmless, funny in his own way. Beatrice had been right about the sporadic nerd thing, but that wasn't a strike against him. Far from it. Dipper found himself wanting to be in this man's life even more than he had when they'd still been in the car. “Am I staring again?”

“A little.”

“I'm sorry. It's just a bad habit of mine.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, smile sheepish. “I'm working on it.”

Wirt smiled, bumping their hips together. “It's okay. Greg’s definition of rude isn't as well-defined as mine.”

“That's true.” Greg grinned, holding the door open wider so they could enter. “So your name’s Dipper?”

“Yeah.” Dipper stepped into the apartment, looking around even though he’d gleaned how it looked from Greg’s mind already. Bookshelves took up an entire wall of the living room, all four of them packed to bursting. The couch was old, a little beaten up relic from their old home, and the two armchairs were the same. The only thing that they’d gotten relatively recently was their coffee table, a glorified trunk already bearing scuff marks from Greg’s shoes and the cat.

A gray feline weaved around his legs as Wirt ushered him further into the living room, encouraging him to take a seat. “That’s Tuna. She’s still a kitten and we’re not entirely sure how well she reacts to strangers, so-” Wirt broke off when Tuna leapt onto the couch and meowed for attention. “Um. Okay, she likes you.”

“Cats usually do.” It was dogs that were hit and miss, which was a shame since Dipper had always been fond of canines. He scratched Tuna behind the ear, lips curved. They’d gotten her when their old pet frog had begun showing his age, even Greg recognizing the cat as a replacement pet, but he’d loved her anyway.

Greg hummed, swooping the cat into his arms and dropping down onto one of the armchairs. “So you're a writer, right?”

“Most of the time.” Dipper grinned, not missing Wirt’s warning glance. He didn't have to worry about the kid embarrassing him, though. It would be hard to after everything his mind had displayed. “Sometimes, I get to play detective with my twin. We take on private cases here and there.”

“Whoa!” His eyes rounded. “Like what kind?”

Dipper’s lips curved. “Whatever we're needed for.”

“Are you on one now?”

“Mm... Not exactly. There's one brewing, but we're hoping we get skipped over.” He shrugged, looking up to meet Wirt’s curious gaze. “It's not really something I can talk about.”

“O-oh. Right, yeah. Official business, I guess.” But he didn't like the way his heart somersaulted in his chest. Why couldn't he talk about it? Was it dangerous? Could he get hurt? Wirt really didn't want this man to be hurt, and it hit him suddenly that he had a very dangerous side job. He wasn't just a man who sat hunched in front of a computer screen and filled page after page with colorful characters. He was a man who solved crime, and sometimes crime was a very violent thing. This very easy-going man with his quick laugh who was even now engaging Greg in a conversation about instruments probably knew how to use a gun and had probably had to pull the trigger at least once, if not more.

Wirt turned away and strode into the kitchen. It didn't surprise him to see the kettle on the stove, some of the tightness easing when he saw water in it. Greg knew his habits almost a little too well. He turned the heat on, then turned to their Keurig drawer to find a cup of coffee for Dipper. A soft, “Don't freak out,” had him tensing, but he steadied slowly when strong arms wrapped around his middle and drew him back. He felt so secure, warm against his back, and Wirt instinctively began to match his breathing to the rise and fall of Dipper's. “You still with me?”

“Yeah. I'm... I'm fine.”

“Okay. Greg said you had pre-panic attack face and decided it was clearly my fault, so I should come fix it.”

Wirt huffed, laying a hand on Dipper's arm. “I'm surprised he didn't follow you.”

“He did. He just thinks I don't notice.”

“How did you know?” Greg demanded, Wirt's soft laugh cut short by Dipper's reply.

“It's my job, man.”

Right. His job, right. It was his job to know when people followed him just in case maybe they tried to hurt him or- or kill him. Oh, god, someone could just kill him. He could be following a lead and it could end up being a trap and then he'd be all alone because private detectives didn't have backup, and Wirt would probably never know because who would think to call a guy who'd only gone on one date? Two. Two dates, right, but he'd still never even met his twin. So he'd have to find out from Beatrice when she complained that one of their best-sellers had died, and then he'd have to tell Greg that his favorite author wasn't going to be writing any more books because he was gone and, oh, so was Dipper. Coincidence, right? Crazy. “Stop.” It was murmured right against his ear, the arms around him tightening their hold. “Wirt, just breathe. I've got you. Just breathe. It's okay. You're okay. I'm right here.”

It took Wirt a few seconds, breaths slowing again to match Dipper's steady, deep ones. Dipper gave him a squeeze, chin resting on his shoulder. “There we go. It's okay. Just keep breathing.” He'd never soothed someone from the fringes of a panic attack without seeping into their mind to remove the stressor. Sure, he'd gone into Greg's mind to find out what Wirt responded to, but he hadn't been sure that just his presence would work. He'd been sure that he'd have to get Greg to come take over, but Wirt slowly relaxed against him.

“I'm sorry. I just...”

“It's okay, Wirt. They happen. I'm not going to let you go until you think you've got your legs under you, though.” The hand over his arm wasn't digging in anymore and he wasn't shaking quite as bad, but he still didn't want to let him go. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I'm... I'm fine. Really, it's okay.” Though he felt completely irrational. He had no reason to get so worked up about Dipper's side work. They still barely knew each other. Sort of. He knew more about him after two dates than he'd ever known about anyone else. And he'd honestly shared more over two dates than he normally would've. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. Anxiety’s a thing, right? You're fine. Just...” Dipper gave him a gentle squeeze. “What freaked you out exactly?”

Wirt turned in his arms, though he wasn't quite able to meet Dipper's gaze. He toyed with the fabric of his shirt instead, focusing on the buttons. “It's- It's nothing. I'm just being dumb. I mean- I know you know what you're doing. You'd have to. You've been doing this a really long time, and you have your sister. I don't think you're stupid or anything, so-”

“Okay, hang on. Is this about the detective stuff I do?”

Wirt's gaze flicked up, meeting Dipper's briefly before dropping again. “I'm sorry. It's clearly your life, and I have no right at all to even worry about what might happen if you went up against someone who... who was dangerous. You can take care of yourself. I'm sure.”

“You are seriously the sweetest guy I've ever met in my life, wow.” Dipper twisted his hat to the side to rest their brows together, waiting for Wirt's nervous gaze to meet his. “It's totally okay to be worried. I know it can be dangerous, but you're right about me knowing how to take care of myself. Plus, I largely deal with missing persons cases and the occasional theft that people don't want to go to the police for, or feel like they can't.” Like how did you explain to the average cop that your fridge of blood had been stolen? Dipper smiled, rubbing the small of Wirt's back. “Anything really big, I pass over to the right authorities.” Which were normally the two enforcers stationed in their city who handled rogue vampire affairs. He and Mabel tended to be little more than backup when that happened and, really, if the murderous rogue did pass through, their biggest job would be to go around at night convincing humans that they had no business being anywhere but safe at home.

“How, um, how often do you take cases?”

“Up to three a month, depending on how busy I am with a book or how busy Mabel is with her business. We don't go looking for trouble, Wirt, I promise.”

“I don't really think you do. I just...” He shrugged helplessly, smile embarrassed. “I just started to think about what might happen if you got into a situation you weren't expecting.”

“I promise to call you if I feel like going into any crazy situations so you can talk me out of it.”

Wirt shook his head, lips twitching. “Don't promise that. I'll start to expect it.”

“Well, I'm not on a case right now, so we should be good. I'll definitely let you know if I pick one up, okay? You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Sure he does,” Greg piped up, satisfied that his brother had settled down and that Dipper wasn’t that bad. Anyone who could get Wirt to calm down couldn’t be bad. Even if he was probably a vampire. “He's a Worry Wirt.”

Wirt sighed, Dipper dropping his head to laugh against Wirt's shoulder. “I told you he calls me that.”

“That's great, oh my god.” Dipper straightened, releasing Wirt reluctantly when his arms fell away from his shirt. “Gotta love siblings.”

“Wirt said you have a sister.”

“Did he?” Dipper grinned, looking from Greg to Wirt. “Has he talked about me a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Greg!”

“What?” Greg cackled, picking the kettle up when it began to whistle. He poured it over a teabag, well-acquainted with his brother’s habits and nightly preferences. “You talk about him pretty much nonstop.”

“I don’t- He's exaggerating.”

“Barely.”

Dipper shook his head, slipping an arm around Wirt's waist. “I may or may not talk about you... a little excessively to Mabel too, so you’re not alone.”

Wirt smiled slowly, at ease against him. “That's nice to know.”

“Oh, no,” Greg groaned. “He's a dork just like you, Wirt!”

“Greg!” Wirt yelped, but Dipper could only laugh. 

Later, as Dipper was leaving, he grinned at Wirt. “I really like your brother. The guy’s a lot of fun, and I bet he and Mabel would get along great. I'm almost scared to introduce them.”

Wirt smiled, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. “Almost?”

“Yeah. I want them to meet.” He slipped his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out. “I'd love her to meet you, too.”

“Really?” At Dipper’s obviously amused smile, Wirt shuffled his feet. “Oh my gosh. I- I'd love to meet her. Do you... you think she'll like me?”

She already did. Dipper’s expression softened. “I know she will. Trust me.”

“Alright. Um.” Wirt leaned against the doorway, cupping his elbows. “The only day that might not really work is Friday. Not- not today, but next week. Obviously. Right.”

It was getting harder and harder not to reach out to pull him close and claim those stuttering lips. “Busy?”

“Mm-mm-mm. Kind of. In the afternoon. There's, um... Greg’s got a jazz band concert. Well, it's a showcase of upperclassmen, but they want the jazz band to perform regardless of grade.”

“Oh, yeah. You obviously can't miss that.” He wouldn’t want to. Dipper didn’t have to read his mind to know that about him.

“No. But I was wondering- _he_ was wondering if you might be interested in coming.”

Dipper hummed. He should probably check his schedule, but the importance of the invitation wasn’t lost on him. This was a family thing. Only family and close friends attended lame high school shows. It wasn’t the sort of thing boyfriend’s attended unless things were serious or headed that way. Normally, such a thing would have warning bells ringing in his mind. Commitment was dangerous and often impossible for his kind. But watching Wirt quietly waiting for his answer, fingers digging into his arms just a little when the silence stretched between them, the bells didn't ring. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, pleasant and unfamiliar.

Commitment seemed very nice with this sweet human. “I'll be there. Text me the time and place?”

Wirt’s breath caught, but he nodded. “I'll- Yes. I can do that, yes. That is a thing I can do. You'll really come?”

“Yeah. I'd really like to. I like your brother, Wirt, and I really, really like you.” He did reach out, taking a hand that had slackened its grip in surprise, and pressed a warm kiss to the palm. “Text me soon.”

“I will,” Wirt murmured, heat radiating from his palm to leave his entire body tingling. “I... I really, really like you too.”

Dipper grinned, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Bye, Wirt.”

“Bye, Dipper.”

\----

“Don’t stare at me like that.”

“But I'm still so confused, bro-bro.” Mabel pushed the cart forward, one foot braced on the bottom rack so she could use the other to push off and glide down the aisles as she'd been doing since shopping carts and supermarkets had replaced neighborhood markets. “It's like seeing a baby lion in the snow - it just doesn't happen.”

“Why a baby lion?”

“Dipper, please, you're not a grown lion.”

“Good god.” Dipper pushed the cart towards the bread, Mabel having to jump down to halt the wayward course. “You’re the worst. And you know why I'm here.”

“To put on a show. Make one wrong move and everyone will know.”

“Your Disney obsession is showing.”

“Your Wirt obsession is the only reason why you actually came grocery shopping, so hush.”

He couldn’t exactly invite Wirt to his house without normal human things in the kitchen. How did one explain one gallon of milk and apples right next to bags of blood to a human? He didn’t expect the very polite Wirt Palmer to rummage about his fridge, but casual mistakes happened and he couldn’t erase any of his mistakes from Wirt’s mind.

He didn’t particularly want to, adoring this compatibility thing. Even when Wirt was turned - and Dipper hoped he'd be open to the change - he wouldn’t have to constantly guard his mind from invasive reading. They could just be around one another. He didn’t push Mabel when she sailed by again, only shaking his head when she pushed pop-tarts into the cart. “Those are gross.”

“You like the brown sugar ones.”

“Yeah, but none of those ended up in the cart.”

“Would you eat them if they ended up in the cart?”

There was a beat of silence between them before Dipper shrugged. “Okay, that's fair.”

“I thought so, you dork.”

He shrugged again, but stopped and abruptly whirled when a familiar heartbeat filled his ears. His own sped up, lips curving when Wirt turned down the aisle. It had been nearly a week since their date, nearly a week since he'd seen this man, and that was far too long. They'd been talking, of course, by text and phone call when possible, but it was entirely different to be in his presence. Dipper crossed to him, watching surprise and then pleasure ripple over Wirt's features when he looked up. “Hey. Hi.” He couldn't resist catching his hand to tug him close. He just looked so stupidly cute in his rumpled burgundy sweater with his very kissable smile.

“H-hi, Dipper.” Wirt was as surprised to find himself bundled close, Dipper's arms around his neck, as he was to see him there at all. Obviously, the man went to the store. He had to eat, but he seemed just a little too odd to do something so mundane as shop for groceries. Wirt hesitated only briefly before carefully wrapping his arms around his waist. They were dating. This was fine. It was actually really nice being so close to that easy grin and those bright eyes, the man seeming so happy to see him. As though it had been five years rather than five days. “Oh my gosh, I keep running into you.”

And this time it really was an accident. “Is that a bad thing?”

Wirt's gaze averted, color tinting his face. “No, it's- it's actually very nice. I wouldn't mind running into you more.”

Dipper waited for him to look back before gently cupping the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t mind running into you more either.” When Wirt’s gaze dropped briefly to his mouth, Dipper shifted just a little closer. One little taste of those pretty lips wasn’t a lot to ask for, was it?

_Oh my gosh, do_ not _let your first kiss be in a grocery store!_

Mabel’s voice in his head had him jerking back. He sent a glare over his shoulder, and had to step back because Wirt had gone stiff. _Why do you have to do that to me?_

She smiled, but stayed out of his head and skipped over. “Hi! I'm going to guess that you're Wirt since Dipdop here doesn't go around just grabbing strangers.”

Wirt flushed. He hadn't known why Dipper had suddenly stepped back, so ready to sink into the kiss his eyes had promised, until she'd spoken aloud. And he was not mentally prepared to meet her. “I, um. It's- It's really-” Something fluttered through his mind, calm and soothing and unnoticed even when his shoulders relaxed and his smile eased. “I'd hope he doesn't go around grabbing strangers.”

Dipper grinned, slipping his hand into Wirt's even though his annoyed thoughts went to his sister. _Get out of his head. Now._

_But he wants to be relaxed. I'm helping him relax._

He glanced at her, frown tugging at his lips. _Let him be him, Mabel. He's got enough self-confidence issues without being allowed to make good impressions on his own_.

She stuck her tongue out at him, but slipped out of Wirt's mind. Some of her influence was bound to remain, however, Wirt finding it easier to lace his fingers with Dipper's in front of her than he would have before she'd calmed him. “Is, um, is staring a family trait?”

“Absolutely!”

“I'm sorry. We're just a rude family.” Dipper smiled easily, lifting Wirt's hand to his lips. He wasn't used to telling his sister to get out of someone's head. Keeping humans calm was normally necessary when they interacted with them, but having her digging through Wirt's head was a problem. Having her change him, even by soothing anxieties, was a problem. He wasn't sure if that was because of the whole true compatibility thing or if it was just his overprotective nature coming out, but it didn't matter. He wanted Wirt exactly how he was, nerves and all. “You shouldn't get mixed up with the likes of me,” he teased.

Wirt shook his head, color returning to his cheeks in a light dusting of pink. “I don't, um, I don't really mind. At least not that much. I mean, um, I don't... I don't really know what I mean.”

“He's like that. A lot.” Greg took his brother's distraction to sneak a bag of candy into the shopping cart. “Basically one hundred percent of the time.”

“Greg!”

“Hi, Dipper! Hi, person who is obviously Dipper's sister. Wow, you guys really are twins.”

Mabel's lashes fluttered, a hand patting her chest playfully. “Aw, Dipper, you talk about me?”

“In short, annoyed sentences.”

She laughed, punching his shoulder playfully while her mind skimmed through Greg's. Her heart immediately went out to the little boy, losing his parents so unexpectedly and making himself grow up fast enough to help take care of his older brother. They were both sweet. “Rude.”

“I'm sorry, but the word we're looking for is ‘honest.’”

“Rude liar who's so rude and lies so much.”

Dipper laid a hand over his heart, expression wounded. “Ow. Boyfriend, she's hurting my feelings.”

Wirt smothered a laugh, hesitating only briefly before slipping an arm around Dipper's waist to pull him close. “Don't worry, boyfriend o' mine. I'll protect you. Even though you kind of deserve it.”

Dipper didn't bother hiding his laugh, though he stayed snugly against Wirt's side. “You're only siding with her because she's new.”

“No, this is good. I'm a big fan of people insinuating that I'm right." Mabel grinned. “I like him, Dipper. Keep this one.”

That was the plan, but Dipper only smiled and tipped his cheek to rest against Wirt's shoulder. When his brother blushed, Greg snickered. She seemed fun. Both twins did, which was something his brother - and himself, if he was being honest - was sorely lacking in his life. But Wirt had definitely been more cheerful and giddy than he had been in a long time, his old poetry notebook making its return into their daily lives rather than something Wirt would pull out in a blue moon or just keep tucked in his room so Greg didn't actually know when he was writing. This was better. “Dipper, Wirt said you were coming to the concert thing!”

“Yeah. I've been looking forward to it. Though I'm thinking we put an end to having our dates be a week apart. That's really not working out for me.”

Wirt's lips quirked up and Greg snorted. “I didn't think you were the clingy type. Careful, Dipper. You're starting to be as lame as Wirt.”

“I'm normally not.”

“He means the clingy thing,” Mabel supplied. “He's always lame.”

“Thanks, Mabes.”

“Anytime, bro-bro! Anytime at all.”

Greg sighed gustily. “And here I was, thinking you were a cool vampire.”

Mabel gasped. “Really?”

Dipper zipped straight to her mind. _He likes vampires, and it's a tease. Don't you dare blow this._

_I can make him comfortable with it_ , she defended.

_Do not do it._

“Do you guys, like, communicate through staring or...?”

Mabel giggled, waving Greg's very accurate statement aside. “It's a twin thing. He's doing his best not to geek out because he's always had this crazy paranormal fixation.” Even before they'd been turned, he'd looked into ghosts and what bumped in the night. Becoming one of the creatures hadn't diminished his fascination in the slightest.

“I'm not- oh my god. Please ignore her.” Dipper knocked his.shoulder against hers when she only giggled. 

“Anyway, Dippindots here told me that you were having a concert at your school Friday. Jazz band?”

Greg's grin shifted to surprise for a moment, the same expression on Wirt's face as they looked from Mabel to Dipper and back. “You told her about that?” Greg asked, awed.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Was I... Was I not supposed to?”

“No, that's really cool! Wow!”

Mabel beamed. They were both sweethearts. “He told me you do drums at school, but you're learning others. Like ukulele.”

Greg's grin returned in a flash, not willing to be outdone. “Wirt told me that you knit sweaters and make whole outfits and that you own your own business.”

Dipper squirmed a bit in embarrassment when Mabel poked at his arm playfully. “Those don't sound like the details that come out of short annoyed sentences, bro-bro.”

“‘My sister was working late again on her stupid sweaters and kept me awake all day. She thinks she has talent, and-’ And I can't finish that.” Dipper laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him. “She is talented. She made that one yesterday.”

She twirled, showing off the nearly dress-length silver cashmere sweater. “This is very true.”

“Wait. You mean you... you finished it yesterday. You didn't make that whole thing.”

She giggled, Wirt's rounded eyes amusing. “Nope. Started it early yesterday, finished it late yesterday. Wearing it today because, really, who can resist good cashmere? Not this gal!”

“Oh my gosh.”

“I told you.” Dipper gave him a squeeze, as amused as his twin. “She's been knitting almost as long as we've been alive.”

“Yup!” Way back when making clothes was normal. She'd dreamed of being a milliner at eleven. At twelve, her world had literally shaken apart. Luckily, handmade clothes were a popular enough novelty for her to grab that dream back. “We got lucky since my shop took off the same time as Dipper's books did.”

“That's so cool! Can I touch it?”

“Greg, that's not really-”

“Absolutely!” She bounced closer and held out her sleeve for Greg to feel, laughing at his “oooh.”

Wirt sighed. “He's... You don't have to humor him.”

“Oh, I'm not. I really don't mind.”

“Yeah, Wirt.” Greg beamed, hands settling at his hips and eyes reflecting nothing but mischief. He knew when he had an ally. The twins exchanged amused glances, their grins matching. “So, anyway, back to the concert!”

“Are you going to ask me to go?” Mabel's grin widened. “Because I'd absolutely love to go. I'm hinting that you should ask me to go, if you don't get it.”

“Hang on. I have to ask my brother since you'd kind of be crashing his date and all. Hey, Wirt-”

“Oh my gosh, it's not a date.” He paused. “Not- not that I don't want it to be one. I just...”

“It's a high school function?” Dipper supplied, smiling at his nod. “Yeah, I get it. I wasn't thinking of it as a date either.”

“Which means Mabel can come!” Greg deduced, grinning.

She pumped her fist, trying and failing not to giggle. “Great! I wouldn't miss it, Greg. We'll both absolutely be there.” They high fived, their brothers content just to be close to one another and accepting of their fate. Even though Wirt was holding back the biggest sigh of relief since she seemed to like him and Greg.

He sighed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no update schedule for this ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
